


Plus One

by migratoryslashfan



Series: Triad Plus One [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aquatic Monster Plant, Consent Issues, Discussion of Abortion, Fuck Or Die, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knotting, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Mind Manipulation, Minor Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey, Moments of Unrelenting Fluff, Mpreg, Multi, Paralysis, Past Relationship(s), Plant Toxins, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Pregnancy Test, Scenting, Underwater Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy, memory retrieval
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:49:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 101,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3575022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/migratoryslashfan/pseuds/migratoryslashfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles takes a pregnancy test as a joke. It turns up positive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm publishing this as I write it, so expect the next chapter in a few hours. And let me know in the comments who you want endgame pairing to be! I haven't decided yet on the endgame pairing as I'm torn between all three, but rest assured that yes, all pairings tagged have occurred in the backstory and will be explored in this fic.
> 
> I'll add tags and characters as they become necessary.
> 
> ETA for newcomers: Pairing(s) have been decided. :) ~~Come to my[tumblr askbox](http://migratoryslashfan.tumblr.com/ask) if you absolutely need to know the endgame pairing(s).~~ Endgame pairings are all in the tags now.
> 
> SPAWN of ETA: If you're at all offended by anon hate, please don't read the comment section on Chapter 13. (Fitting, it is, that all the morally bankrupt anons have commented on that chapter.) Be safe, dear readers! I've left the hate there for posterity but any other hate on future/past chapters will get kilt ded.

Stiles took the test as a joke.

He found the box in the cabinet under the sink at Scott's house when he refilled the toilet paper; he saw it and his brain took a turn for the stupid. If they hadn't been old and expired, he probably would have left them alone, but as it was he took one of the sticks from the box and pocketed it. Because he was curious.

And now, here he was, in the bathroom at school with a positive pregnancy test in his hand.

He could only stare at first; his hands wanted to drop the stick, they were shaking so bad, but there was someone in the next stall over, and if they saw it hit the floor, then Stiles would be the joke.

A gamut of possibilities ran through his mind: first, that the tests had been old, and there was no telling what an expired pregnancy test would mean if used; second, that he knew from some stuff online that these things detected hormones and proteins and other stuff, and that certain cancers produced hormones, so maybe it was cancer instead but how the fuck is that any better?; and finally, he thought, maybe he really is pregnant, followed up with _is this even fucking possible_.

Stiles had certainly seen enough strange shit in the last couple of years in Beacon Hills, but the last thing he needed in his senior year of high school was to be a knocked up unwed teenager. Not to mention, who the hell would even be the father? There weren't many possibilities, but there were enough that Stiles didn't relish the thought of having to tell all three of them. If this test was accurate, if this was really happening, he knew who he wanted the father to be. He also knew who he didn't want it to be, and who he was afraid it actually was.

The bell rang, startling Stiles so that he did drop the test on the floor, but thankfully he was now alone. He picked up the stick and wiped it down before stuffing it back in his pocket, yanking up his jeans, and hurrying out to his next class. He'd have to figure this out after school was over.

**********

The day was impossibly long after that. Stiles was quiet during his classes, which he knew made Scott suspicious about something, but Stiles just wasn't in the mood to pretend everything was normal. Because everything was not normal. That damn stick was burning a hole through his pocket; he could feel it against his thigh every time he fidgeted.

Lacrosse practice wasn't much better. At least the test was in his locker the whole time. Even still, his attention was elsewhere. How was he even going to figure this out? He should probably go to Deaton first; if male pregnancy were actually possible thanks to supernatural intervention or whatever, he needed to know that first. If he could rule that out, then he could go to Melissa with it.

And pray to whatever god would listen that the test had been too old to be anything but _wrong_.

Scott headed toward Stiles in the locker room, already showered and ready to go home. Stiles had almost skipped a shower himself, but he was glad he didn't; the heat and the pulsing water had soothed his tension just a little, enough that he was ready to go to the clinic and talk to Deaton about this, just to get it over with. He toweled his hair a bit as Scott approached.

"Dude, is everything alright?" Scott's words were spoken casually, but his eyes were filled with concern.

"I don't know," Stiles said truthfully, but he shrugged and tried to sound playful. "Should it not be?"

"You've been quiet all day. It's kind of scaring me."

Stiles gave another shrug. "It's senior year, man," Stiles said. "Guess I'm just thinking about the future."

And wasn't that the most lie-filled truth he'd ever told?

Scott nodded sagely. "Look, Deaton needs me to work today, but when I get off, if you wanna talk...?"

Stiles stopped short, jeans in hand. He squeezed the left pocket a little, feeling the test stick beneath the fabric. _Nope, not a dream._ But if Scott was working than that meant that going to the clinic to see Deaton would have to wait, if he didn't want Scott overhearing their conversation. Which he definitely didn't.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, finally meeting Scott's eyes. "Let's talk tonight."

Scott nodded, still obviously worried, but backing off for now. "I'll call you."

They'd been the last ones there, and when Scott left, Stiles was suddenly alone. Hurrying to get out of there, Stiles flung his jeans over his shoulder so he could get his boxers on first, but then the unthinkable happened: the stick fell from his pocket, and when he bent to snatch it up, he accidentally kicked it forward. He froze, watching in horror as it skidded across the floor through Coach Finstock's open office door.

Was Coach even in there? He wasn't sure.

He got his answer when he saw Coach step into view, crouch down, and stare at the positive test strip.

"Stilinski!"

Stiles gulped. "Yeah, Coach?"

"Get your butt in here and pick this up," Coach grumbled.

Stiles immediately obeyed. He grabbed up the test-- _positive side up, holy shit, Finstock knows_ \--and turned to run out of there as fast as possible, but then Coach called him back in.

"Not so fast, Stilinski," Finstock said, a frown on his face. "Have a seat."

Stiles sat, making sure to not lose his towel in the process. He shrank himself as much as he could manage, willing himself to become invisible, but the universe wasn't having it.

"Why are you carrying that around in your pocket?" Finstock asked, then immediately cut off Stiles' wordless noises with a follow-up, "Nevermind, don't tell me. I don't wanna know."

Stiles shut his mouth. They were both silent. It was the most awkward moment he'd ever shared with the man.

"No, different question: has she made a choice yet?"

Stiles narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Wait. What?"

"The girl in question," Finstock said slowly, pointing at the stick. "The one who gave you _that_."

Stiles gulped, then sighed with relief when he realized that, _of course_ Coach would think Stiles got someone else pregnant--that's what any normal person would think, right?

"I'm asking you if she's decided what she's going to do about it," Finstock clarified. "My counsel to you rests on your answer to that question."

"Counsel?"

"Well, obviously, you need to talk to _someone_. You were totally crap at practice today, and it's no wonder, with your head where it is."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Stiles mumbled. "And, uh, no," Stiles added warily, "she hasn't decided yet."

"Okay, then, Stilinski, perk up your ears and heed my words," Finstock said. "Are you listening?"

Stiles met Coach's eyes. "Yeah."

"Right," Finstock muttered. "First off, it's her call. There are no two ways around that. Second, be supportive. The way you do that is, you consider all the possibilities: what if she keeps it, what if she doesn't, what if she gives it up, what if she gets an abortion, et cetera. Consider every possibility. Play it out in your head as if she's actually made that choice. Then your emotions won't flare up in surprise when she makes her choice. Understand?"

"Uhh..." Stiles wasn't exactly sure this was good advice, but it didn't really matter, did it? He was the one that was going to have make this choice, and that was best-case of a worst-case scenario. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good. When you see her again, you tell her, 'Whatever you decide, cupcake, I am here for you.' And then you do that."

"Do what?"

" _Be there_ for her, you moron."

"Right."

"Okay," Coach said with an air of finality. "Now get the hell outta my office."

"Sure thing," Stiles said, hurrying out.

Stiles dressed quickly and shut his gear in his locker, tucking the test stick snuggly into his pocket once more, but before he made it out of the locker room, he was hit by a wave of nausea. He barely made it to the toilet before he was throwing up in it.

"Fuck," he whispered, leaning hard against the bathroom stall partition. He flushed the toilet and slowly stood, the nausea easing as he did while his head started to swim.

Once he got his legs under him again, Stiles rinsed his mouth twice and all but ran out to his Jeep. He couldn't wait another day to find out what was going on. If he couldn't see Deaton about it, he knew someone else who could answer some questions about the supernatural for him.

He just wasn't sure he actually wanted to talk to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles receives wisdom and comfort from an unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all the pairings I've listed, which is why I'm torn on where I want this one to go, so please be kind to each other in the comments! Ship and let ship, peace on earth, and goodwill to all werewolves, yeah?

"I have to ask you something very important and kind of embarrassing and I don't need any judgment or questions just a simple straight answer, okay?" Stiles said, all in one breath, as soon as the door opened to him.

"And good afternoon to you, Stiles," Chris Argent said in reply. "How are you today?"

Stiles sighed. "Sorry, it's just... I didn't know where else to go, and I'm kind of freaking out."

Chris must've seen the panic in Stiles' eyes because he put away the cold death-glare and ushered the boy into his home.

"And you came to me about it?"

"Scott's working, so I can't go to Deaton," Stiles explained. "Not yet anyway."

"Is this about what happened at the river?"

"Maybe? I don't know yet," Stiles said, scrubbing nervous fingers through his hair. "I kind of needed clarification on something first."

"Well, I can't promise answers I don't have, but I'll do what I can," Chris said, gently easing Stiles towards a chair in the dining room. "So what's this question?"

Stiles nearly panicked again, glancing around the room. "Is Allison home?"

Chris smiled softly at him. "She's out with Isaac. This won't get back to Scott, if that's what you're worried about. No one's here but us."

Stiles nodded, the movement twitchy. It sounded like things between Allison and Isaac were working out then, and he was glad to hear it. After the incident at the river, they'd been distant. Stiles had expected the same of him and Scott, but nothing had changed for them. Of course, Peter still kept his usual distance. The only one who'd seemed at all freaked out about any of it had been Derek, and really, Stiles couldn't blame him. The entire pack was on edge after their grapple with that monster-plant-algae-thing, and time had only just passed enough that it wasn't forefront on Stiles' mind that he'd slept with three werewolves in one night in order to save all their lives.

"I'm gonna tell him," Stiles sputtered out, "I just... I want to bring something to the conversation besides sheer panic."

"Stiles," Chris said, impatient. "The question?"

"So what happened at the river..." Stiles started, unsure of how to broach the question at all. "Well, it. I mean. The consequences Deaton mentioned. I think I may be experiencing them."

"We've been over this, Stiles. Humans are immune to the effects of the Lotus snare."

Stiles pulled the pregnancy test from his pocket and placed it on the table.

"The consequences Deaton mentioned--" As Chris' eyes made sense of what Stiles put before him, he stopped mid-sentence.

Stiles scoffed. "I don't think this is a consequence he had in mind."

"Fair enough."

"I mean, the box this came from--it was old. So maybe it's nothing. But I've read online about guys doing... these tests, as a joke--which is why I did it--and they've discovered it could mean cancer." Stiles took a shaky breath, then asked his question. "Only, before I go down that road, and put my dad in that place again, I need to know if the other option is even possible. Have you ever heard of a guy getting pregnant? I mean, through magic or supernatural mojo or--anything?"

Chris frowned. "I'm afraid I haven't."

Stiles hid his face in his hands, letting out a scared whimper at Chris' response, and that told him everything he needed to know: yes, he would rather give birth to a freakin' werewolf baby than to have to face cancer. Who the fuck wouldn't?

Chris drew in a deep breath and put a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Of course, just because I haven't heard of it doesn't mean it's impossible. I don't know everything, Stiles."

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" Stiles pleaded for direction.

Chris sighed. "You could wait, talk to Deaton tomorrow. Or you could go through the tests, see if it is cancer. But those tests can take days or even weeks to give results."

Stiles put his head in arms. Chris' hand squeezed gently where it still rested on his shoulder.

"I'd advise you to wait," Chris said softly. "Go in first thing in the morning and talk to Deaton about it."

"First thing?" Stiles asked, sitting up. "What about school?"

"Are you even going to be able to concentrate enough to learn anything tomorrow?"

Stiles scoffed, then he drew in a deep breath, let it out quickly. "Probably not."

"I didn't think so," Chris said. Then he gave Stiles a small grin. "Now how bout some ice cream?"

Stiles nodded, able to breathe a little better now that he didn't feel like he was facing this alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles skips school and goes to the clinic, where Deaton may be able to give him some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did actual research for this chapter! But I'm hand-waving everything about the Lotus snare, because I made that thing up, so whatevs.

In actuality, Deaton's clinic opened an hour before school started anyway, so Stiles didn't even have to miss much if... well, if whatever Deaton needed to say or do didn't take very long.

Stiles had chickened out of telling Scott about any of it. He still wanted to wait until he had more definitive answers. His talk with Chris had calmed him down a bit, and even when he left the Argents' apartment, he started to wonder if maybe he hadn't blown the whole thing out of proportion. He shook off the throwing up as just working himself into such a stressful state that that was his body's only viable reaction; he told himself the test was old and it was probably a false positive. He was fine and everything was exactly as it was last month.

And then he pulled into the clinic's parking lot and shut off the Jeep's engine, and panic sunk in again. His knuckles were white from how tight he squeezed the steering wheel, and he was having trouble making himself breathe. All the thoughts and questions from the day before returned to him, with a few added to the pile just in case he wasn't frightened enough.

He wasn't ready to be a parent, and he wasn't at all ready to make a choice about terminating a pregnancy. And he wasn't even sure how that would work, considering he didn't even have the parts necessary to make conception a thing his body could do.

The part of his brain that still did a double-take whenever Scott wolfed out, that Stilinski part of him that was skeptical about everything he couldn't prove, was convinced he had cancer. He tried to talk himself down, to tell himself that it wouldn't even be a death sentence necessarily, that people survived cancer and recovered from it all the time.

Then Lydia could help him start a meth business to pay for his medical bills.

Stiles laughed tightly to himself, the kind of laughter that wants to roll out but knows it shouldn't, because this wasn't a laughing matter.

His brain further argued that pregnancy was still a possibility, _think of all you've seen_ , and he had to agree. _I fucked three werewolves in order to free them from a plant that feeds on werewolf hormones,_ he reminded himself. _Male pregnancy is not that far out of the ballpark anymore._

Yet none of the back and forth in his mind was working very well to calm his nerves. The only thing that would work at that point would be knowledge, followed by an action plan.

So he climbed out of his Jeep and took his first steps toward learning the truth.

**********

The Lotus snare was less a single organism and more a micro ecosystem. It thrived in bodies of fresh water, establishing root systems spanning from bank to bank along the dirt beds of rivers and streams. Stems and stalks budded in great numbers under the water's surface, though only a few buds grew to any substantial length, and fewer than that produced flowers. They attracted fish and aquatic life, which fed on its protein-rich buds or on the algae that grew on its bark. According to Alan Deaton, they preferred running water to still, because that was how it had long-since adapted to catching its preferred prey. The plant had been bred by a hunter family in twelfth century Scotland, originally as a means of protection against werewolves and similar shifters.

In fact, Deaton had only seen a Lotus snare up close one time before in his life, and it was in private holding in a garden owned by a retired hunter. How one ended up growing in Beacon Hills was anyone's guess, but the thing had grown like kudzu down the river, unseen until Derek and Isaac stumbled upon it one afternoon while out in the Preserve.

They were drawn to it by its smell, a scent given off by its flowers to do just that: to attract them. Isaac had gotten too close to it, wanting to touch the white petals of an open flower, but despite Derek's protestations, the plant had twined itself around Isaac and pulled him into the river. Derek had shaken himself from the fog of the plant long enough to take a picture of it and send it to Peter, with a _????_ attached, followed up with, _its got isaac what the fuck do i do???_

By the time Peter arrived, Derek had gone under as well. Fortunately, Peter had thought to warn Deaton of it before going off, which was good as, by the time the vet arrived, Peter had been tempted into the waters himself.

And then Deaton couldn't keep Scott from going into the river either. He supposed it got stronger the more people it captured, and had told Scott as much when he left him in charge at the clinic, but Scott had been too worried about Isaac and Derek (and maybe Peter, just a little) to stay put.

Chris came up with a tentative solution to the problem that nobody was happy with, but the Hales' former emissary had confirmed it was the only thing that would work. Then he could concoct a poison to kill the thing off once and for all.

It _had_ worked, too, just as they planned. Everyone was freed, and the Lotus snare was destroyed.

There was, of course, one thing none of them had counted on, and that was that the events which occurred at the river would render Stiles temporarily able to conceive and bear children--and that he would, in fact, conceive that very day.

**********

Business was slow that day at the clinic, so Deaton probably wasn't worried about customers when he flipped the sign on the front door to "closed". He returned his attention to Stiles, who was sitting in the exam room on the table, his knees drawn up, arms hugging his legs to his chest. Deaton stood in front of the boy, hands in his pocket, and said softly, "Do you want me to take care of it?"

Stiles finally met his eyes, his entire system still in shock, and shook his head. "I don't know. I don't..."

"You don't have to decide right now," Deaton assured him. "There's plenty of time."

"I need to talk to Scott first," Stiles said. "Do I need to tell my dad? I mean, will I, like, need his permission or something?"

"Stiles, you're eighteen," Deaton said. "The decision is totally yours. And you don't have to tell anyone, not if you don't want to."

"Right," Stiles said. He'd just had a birthday, too; how could he have forgotten?

"Do you need a ride home?" Deaton asked.

Stiles shook his head, rubbing his eyes and moving into a cross legged sitting position, which actually wasn't very comfortable on the metal table. That didn't matter; he needed to get to school.

He hopped down off the table. Deaton reached out to steady him, but he found his own footing easier than he expected to.

"I'm here if you need anything," Deaton told him.

"Thanks," Stiles said with a nod. "I do have one question though."

"Shoot."

"How long is it until..." He cleared his throat, barreled onward. "How long until I could see it?"

"You mean a sonogram?"

Stiles could only nod, unsure of why he even wanted one. Maybe it would make the decision easier, or at least he hoped so; there was no way to know that until it happened.

Deaton thought on it for a moment, and then drew in a deep breath and said, "Well, you're about four weeks along, by standard estimation, so give it another couple weeks, and I'll set something up here. After hours, as I'm sure you'd prefer."

"Yes, definitely," Stiles said. "And thanks, again."

It wasn't until he was back in his Jeep that he finally let out a sigh of relief. He'd never been more thankful for supernatural causes. He could get through school that day, too, and he'd only be an hour late. He could blame sleeping in; Scott would believe it, until Stiles set him straight.

And this time he'd tell him everything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tells Scott what's up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of good suggestions in the comments, I'm compiling them all in my head. This is the last chapter I'm posting today, but I'll post a couple tomorrow.

School passed at a snail's pace, Stiles itching to get through it without incident. He'd already been sick once that morning (thankfully into a bush on the edge of the school parking lot, where no one had seen him), and he was already tired of it.

Fortunately, Scott was in his eighth period class, so when the final bell rang, he didn't have very far to go to find him. He'd texted Scott in class, that he needed to talk to him and that it was important, so Scott wouldn't be surprised when Stiles pulled him into the nearest bathroom after class, checking under the stalls to make sure they were alone.

"What's going on?" Scott asked. "Is this about why you were weird last night?"

"What? I wasn't weird." He crouched to peek under the last stall.

"I made a Star Wars reference and you didn't even notice," Scott pointed out.

Stiles paused, staring up at his best friend. "When did this happen?"

"You said you were going to try to get into Stanford and I said, there is no try."

"Really?" Stiles kicked himself for missing that. He'd practically dreamed of the moment he and Scott could share Star Wars quotes in place of actual conversation, and now their first opportunity had gone right past him. "When did you finally get around to watching it?"

"Kira made me," Scott admitted. "Now what's going on?"

Satisfied that they were actually alone, Stiles sighed; it was now or never. "Scott," he said, pulling him towards the sink farthest from the door. Stiles pushed him back until he half-sat, half-perched on its edge. Then he took a steadying breath and said it. "I'm pregnant, Scott."

Scott blinked up at him, waiting for more information, a punchline--something. Then he started laughing. "Stiles, seriously. Whatever it is, it can't be that bad, right? We'll handle it together."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Scott and tried again, this time less hesitant in his words. "I'm pregnant. That's it. That's the thing."

Laughter faded from the bathroom until all was quiet. They stared each other down for a moment, Stiles willing Scott to hear what he'd said and take it seriously, Scott trying to wrap his brain around it.

"You're serious," Scott finally said.

Stiles leaned back against the wall to Scott's left, and nodded.

"How is it-- I mean, it's possible?" Scott said, mentally tripping over his own confusion. "Like it's...? I don't know."

"So eloquent," Stiles scoffed. "I can only hope you're the father."

"Oh," Scott said, all of it suddenly clicking in his brain. Quietly, he added, "It might be mine."

"Or Derek's," Stiles reminded him. "Or it might be _Peter's_."

"I hope not," Scott replied.

"So you want it to be yours?"

"I guess?"

"All right, well, let's not get ahead of ourselves, Scotty boy. I have to decide whether I'm keeping it or not," Stiles said. "Shit. What's my dad gonna think?"

Before Stiles could register what he was doing, Scott had him in his arms, hugging him tight to his chest. He didn't let go, even when someone entered the bathroom and they were no longer alone. Stiles returned the hug, melting against Scott's warmth; it didn't matter how fucked up his life got, as long as he had this, as long as he had _Scott_ , he would be okay.

Scott pulled back enough to speak quietly into Stiles' ear. "I'm here for you, Stiles, whatever you decide. You know that right?"

Stiles could only nod against him, unable to form sentences in that heady moment. Hell, maybe it was hormones. It wasn't too early to start blaming those when he couldn't control his emotions, right?

"Come on." Taking Stiles' hand, Scott led him out into the hallway. "We'll go to my house and play video games or something. Whatever you want to do. We can talk some more if you want."

"What about lacrosse?"

Scott paused in the middle of the hallway, his voice low. "Is that a good idea?"

He left off saying, _in your condition_ , but Stiles heard it loud and clear when Scott's eyes dropped to Stiles' belly.

"I don't know," Stiles admitted, then, "and I don't care. Video games. Best idea."

Scott smiled at him.

**********

"So who else knows about this?" Scott asked. They were in Stiles' Jeep, heading for Scott's house, and they'd both been quiet on the ride so far.

"Well, Deaton, obviously," Stiles said. "And you. And Chris."

"Argent?" Scott asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Stiles said. "I, um, yesterday. You were right, I was weird. I was freaking out. I was gonna go talk to Deaton after school but then you had to work."

"You could have told me then," Scott pointed out.

"I wanted to know if it was possible, I--" Stiles threw a hand up. "I don't know. I'm still freaking out, by the way."

They were quiet again. Scott had his window down, hand in the wind. When they reached his house, he didn't move. Stiles caught him staring at him, as if he were contemplating him.

"What is it?" Stiles asked.

Scott shrugged. "I'm wondering when I'll be able to hear the heartbeat."

"You think you'll be able to?"

"Couple times, I've brought my mom lunch at work and walked past a pregnant woman..." Scott smiled widely. "I could hear the heartbeat then. It's actually pretty awesome."

"That is... weirdly touching," Stiles decided.

"Come on," Scott said, putting his window up finally. "I'm gonna order pizza."

"Now you're talking," Stiles said, leaving his backpack in the Jeep as he got out. He followed Scott to the door, watched him unlock it. "I'm starving."

"Have the cravings started yet?" Scott asked, a mischievous smirk on his face.

Stiles elbowed Scott in the ribs. "You shut your mouth."

"Oh, no, the hormones are already swinging."

"I will kill you. I know of several effective ways."

With a lop-sided grin, Scott pushed Stiles into the house and closed the door behind them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened at the river, part one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These scenes were giving me trouble, so I only have one chapter for you today. Another will be here tomorrow!

"What exactly are we doing out here?"

"Investigating."

Isaac trudged along behind Derek, hands stuffed in his pockets. Derek wasn't an alpha anymore, but Isaac still felt an attachment to him, so when he'd called and asked for back-up, Isaac was there.

"And what are we investigating?"

Derek stopped, scenting the air around them, hand in the air to signal Isaac to be alert.

"It's this way," Derek said, jerking his head toward the river.

"What's this way?" Isaac jogged after him, trying to keep up but not understanding the sense of urgency Derek kept projecting. If he would just _tell_ him--

Isaac came to a halt, something fragrant hitting his nose and stopping his thoughts altogether. After taking an inebriating whiff of the air, he began stumbling toward the river like a drunk desperate to fail a sobriety test. He heard Derek saying something, but he couldn't make it out through the fog that surrounded his brain.

_"Isaac!"_

Whatever it was, Derek's voice was muffled, rippling towards his eardrums as though through water--

_Water._

Isaac was desperately thirsty. That's why he needed the river, why he needed to be _in_ it, to sink beneath its gentle rapids, because he was so very thirsty. Hands guided him closer, deeper, wrapping around his limbs and torso, helping him towards a drink. Before he went under, he briefly caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the water: his hair had grown wild around his face, his fangs were down, and his eyes glowed a sharp gold, matching the autumn leaves of the trees behind him. The image rippled, and broke, Isaac sinking underneath the spot where it sparkled up at him, hands around his throat bringing him down to drink.

**********

Derek panicked.

He'd just watched vines snake up Isaac's body and drag him underwater. How long would he have down there? Would help come in time or should Derek try to save him?

He had no choice; he'd lost enough of his pack for ten lifetimes. Shucking his shoes, he pulled his phone from his pocket, snapping a picture of the vines creeping up the riverbank. He sent the image to Peter, followed by a frantic plea for help, and then he chucked the phone towards his boots and waded out to where Isaac had disappeared before diving under.

Beneath the river, wrapped in tendril-like vines and nestled against the plant's roots, lay Isaac, wolfed out and unmoving, an oddly vacant look in his open eyes. Derek swam to him, checking his pulse. He was still alive, but he didn't seem to be breathing. In vain he tried to free Isaac from the vines, but they held tight.

That was when he noticed it: the vine wrapped around Isaac's throat had two barbs sunk deep into the front of the boy's neck. Upon further inspection, he found two more puncturing through the base of his skull.

Rushing to the surface for a quick gasp of air, Derek thought of what he should do. Cutting away the vine could have deadly consequences for Isaac, and at least where he was, he was still getting oxygen, even if it was via the plant itself.

Derek took a deep breath and headed back underwater for one more good look, to find anything he might need to relay to Peter or Deaton or anyone who would know what the fuck this thing was.

Only, as soon as Derek's head went under, he felt himself slip, a haze settling over him. His limbs grew heavy, his pulse speeding up as he tried to resurface. That last intake of air must've brought the flower's intoxicating aroma deeper into his lungs than he could fight off this time.

He sunk, elbows hitting the bottom as he stopped struggling, and soon the vines found him and covered his arms and legs, lulling him into a calm serenity even as he felt the barbs sting his skin. Bubbles ceased to rise from his mouth and nose, oxygen flooding his system through the barbs, making breathing no longer necessary.

**********

By the time Peter arrived at the river, he was already fighting off the stupor caused by the Lotus snare's potent aroma. After the first two texts from Derek, he hadn't heard from him, and that frightened him all the more than the image itself had.

He couldn't believe his nephew didn't know what a Lotus snare was. Hadn't he ever picked up books as a child? Talia had made sure to keep the Hale family library well stocked, and if she hadn't, then Peter certainly would have; his nephew had no excuse.

Still, it was ages since one had been allowed to grow in the States, longer still since one had been seen in the Western hemisphere. They were quite deadly to werewolves, and to the ecosystem itself, once they were let loose and allowed to feed freely on whatever were-creature happened to be passing by, because feeding made them stronger; however nutritive they were towards wildlife, one Lotus snare could suck the nutrients from the soil and begin to kill off the local flora if it was able to get ahold of a werewolf.

So Peter supposed he should cut Derek some slack for his ignorance. At the very least, he could save the scolding until they'd gotten Isaac free of the thing.

Peter had sent off a message to Deaton informing him of the situation and taken off as soon he got Derek's text. There wasn't much time to waste. He didn't exactly care for the beta werewolf caught in its hold, but he cared about Derek, and if he knew the boy well enough, he'd be futilely trying to free Isaac from the plant on his own at that very moment.

It was only a matter of time before Derek was taken into the river himself; if that happened, he might not be able to fight off the effects of the plant's scent once he got there.

Parking on the side of the road, Peter jumped from his car and ran into the woods, tracking Derek by scent. He was getting closer when he was nearly knocked off his feet by a bitter, pungent aroma. He had to brace himself against a tree to keep from falling over, and he panicked the longer it took to catch his breath. Running had been a bad idea; the hard breathing meant he was taking in gulps of the air around him, giving the Lotus snare an invitation to do its work all the more quickly.

Stumbling, he thought to go back to his car, but he suddenly found he did not know the way. The trees towered over him, the ground seemed to move beneath his feet, and then he was being propelled by thirst toward the origin of the scent clouding his nostrils.

What surprised him from the fumbling torpor was the sight of his own claws lengthening from the tips of his fingers. His knuckles were hairy, and touching his face he found his fangs protruding as well. He'd worked feverishly to control his shift; not even a full moon at its zenith held enough power over him to make him shift against his will, and certainly not without his noticing. This wasn't possible.

Covering his mouth and nose with the crook of his elbow, Peter set to a jog this time, moving toward the road. His head cleared somewhat, his fangs and claws receding, but his mind was still dazed, his legs like lead, weighing him down.

He shouldn't have come out here. Humans weren't affected by this and Deaton would've known that. He would've brought Stiles and Chris and Allison out there, maybe the Sheriff, or Scott's mother--anyone but him, or Scott.

The thought of Scott out there scared him. Not that he was terribly concerned with the boy's well-being, but if the Lotus snare caught hold of an alpha, that would mean big trouble. And Peter had no idea what it would mean, if anything, should a _true_ alpha fall into its clutches.

The road couldn't be too far off, but Peter didn't see it. He should've been out of here, this wasn't right, all the wisps of smoke curling around him, causing the hair on the back of his arm to stand on end. The smoke grew thicker, hazier, filling his lungs even though he still had his face shielded, choking off his breathing, and finally cradling him as he dropped to the forest floor. The smoke cushioned him, carried him under a bed of leaves until everything was dark, the leaves poking at him with their sharp stems.

He thought to howl, but it was far too late; the sound would never carry past the waves.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened at the river, part two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this is the chapter of consent issues. Also, hand-wavey science.
> 
> Next chapter should be up Wednesday!

Judging from the location of Peter's car parked off the side of the road, Chris figured it was a straight walk to the river where he'd find Derek and Isaac.

If Peter had been caught up in the Lotus snare himself, well. Chris wasn't too worried about it.

But it seemed the former alpha werewolf had been led to the river by a strange and winding path; the straight track marked by Peter's bootprints took a few weird turns before going completely in the wrong direction, then straightening out again towards the river.

Chris shivered; there was a dense fog hanging around him; the sun was beginning to set and the air was thick and heavy with moisture. Rescue would be slow, if they were all still alive by this point. Although Deaton wasn't too far behind on his way there and Chris had called the Sheriff as well, any plan they might hatch would likely require daylight. The Lotus snare had few weaknesses, and he'd never heard of a way to extricate a werewolf from its clutches without some military-grade explosives, but Deaton had insinuated that there might be a poison he could use to free them.

Arriving at the river, Chris dropped his olive drab duffel bag on the bank without ceremony, but used great care setting the large black case on the ground. He removed boots, jacket, slacks, and t-shirt, setting them to the side, leaving him in only the wet suit he'd donned at home. From his duffel he pulled a pair of shoes specially designed for walking underwater and slipped them onto his feet, making sure they were snug. The last thing he pulled from the bag was a diving knife, a smooth blade on one side with a hook on the back, attached to a bright orange handle and tucked into a similarly neon sheath.

Chris took a quick glance around the woods before wading out to the middle of the river, and then he dove under.

He spotted Peter first; he was completely wolfed out, his eyes fixed in a glassy stare. Chris checked his pulse and found one, weak but steady. He gave the vines holding Peter down a good tug, then returned to the surface for a quick gulp of air, scanning the environment again before diving back down.

This time, he unsheathed his knife, taking it to the vine that bound one of Peter's arms to the roots. When he cut into it, another vine came out of nowhere and knocked Chris through the water.

Water filled his lungs, and the knife fell from his hand. His hand hit silt, stirring it up and clouding the water around him. The vine returned and wrapped itself around Chris' waist, squeezing, and he could swear he heard a piercing shriek reverberating through the water around him.

Suddenly he was out of the water, and then the vine released him; but it wasn't an act of kindness, as Chris was airborne. He landed a few hundred feet down the river from where he found Peter, his body slamming hard against the surface of the water. He went limp then, what was left in his lungs knocked out of him by the impact.

Something gripped him under his arms and around the front of his chest and for a minute he nearly panicked, thinking it was the plant trying to finish him off. But then he was eased onto the shore, someone tilting him into a recovery position as he coughed up the water that choked him.

"Chris? Are you all right?"

Finally able to suck oxygen into his lungs again, Chris caught his breath a little, just enough to address the boy kneeling beside him.

"Scott--" his voice caught in his throat. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Saving your life, it seems," Scott replied. "Did you see Isaac? What about Derek?"

"You shouldn't be here," Chris said. He sat up, grabbing Scott by the shoulders. "It isn't safe for you here."

"I'm fine," Scott protested, and he did seem to have all his faculties. He'd managed to grab Chris from the water and not succumb to the Lotus snare; so maybe he was stronger than the others. "It doesn't seem to be affecting me," he added, echoing Chris' own thoughts.

"Regardless," Chris said, shaking his head, trying to stand, "you should go. You may be unaffected now, but it could be temporary. Maybe it takes longer to work on you, I don't know."

"I wanna help," Scott insisted. "I'm not leaving until Isaac and Derek are out of there."

"And Peter," Chris said. Scott helped him when he tried to stand.

"He's down there, too?"

"Yeah, I saw him," Chris replied. "Didn't see the others though. I'll go back in a minute."

"That thing nearly killed you!"

"Because I injured it," Chris said. "I had my knife with me, tried to cut off one of the vines on Peter. It didn't work."

"Yeah, I see that," Scott said. "So what now?"

"Deaton's on his way?"

"Yes."

"He told you not to come out here?"

"Yes," Scott agreed warily.

"Hmm." Chris shook his head.

"Are they all right down there?" Scott asked, changing the subject.

"Well, if the others are in the same shape Peter's in, they're fine--for now anyway."

"They're underwater; how are they not drowning?"

"I don't know," Chris said. "Peter's pulse was low, just this side of dangerous. I think the vines may be feeding them oxygen somehow."

"Deaton seemed to know what these things are. That's good, right?"

Chris shrugged. He walked down the bank towards his gear and fished out another knife. Then he pulled out a towel and ran it over his face and head before tossing back into the bag. "The weird thing is, Peter was shifted."

"Shifted? Like, werewolf shifted?"

"Yes, like werewolf shifted," Chris said. "He didn't seem to know what was going on either."

Scott scanned the surface of the water, trying to see beneath and find his friends. "Where did this thing even come from?"

"That's a question for later, once we've destroyed it," Chris said. "But if someone put it here, we need to find out why."

"And who," Scott said.

"All right," Chris announced. "I'm going back under." He turned to face Scott and put a hand on his shoulder. "If you start to feel dizzy or mentally impaired, you get out of here. Understand?"

Scott nodded quickly, then watched Chris disappear into the river again.

Quickly, he pulled out his phone and texted Stiles: _There's a freaky plant thing in the river._ He followed that up with, _It's got Derek and Isaac._

A few seconds later, Scott's phone blipped, a new message from Stiles: _I know, Dad's heading there now. He doesn't know it yet, but I'm on my way too._

 _Probably best_ , Scott sent back, then, _It isn't affecting me tho._

_YOU'RE THERE NOW???_

Scott scoffed. Everyone was so worried about him, but he wasn't the one in danger here. _I'm fine, Stiles. Just get here._

A minute passed before Stiles replied. _This thing sounds dangerous. Please be careful._

Scott inhaled a shaky breath, biting his lip. It wasn't that he was unused to Stiles' concern for him; they were best friends, after all, and they'd seen each other through a lot of shit.

_Scott?_

He considered briefly how'd he feel if the situation were reversed, if Stiles were the one out here flaunting his seeming immunity, and he typed back quickly, _Yes, I'll be careful._

Scott heard Chris surfacing, then watched him catch his breath and return underwater. Then his phone pinged him again.

_Is Peter out there with you?_

_The thing has Peter too._

Then Scott's phone rang.

 _"Seriously?"_ Stiles said as soon Scott answered.

"Yes, seriously. Chris said he was wolfed out, too."

 _"The more I hear about this thing, the more I don't like it,"_ Stiles said. _"And the more I don't like you being near it."_

"I'm grateful you're so concerned, but really, I'm okay," Scott insisted. Almost as soon as he stopped talking, however, he felt his knees shake, his head pounding with every word Stiles spoke into his ear. He dropped his phone, let out a low snarl. Everything around him went red.

_"Scott?? Answer me!"_

He felt his breath coming on faster, scented something in the air, something that clung to him in the humidity. Falling to all fours, he crawled toward the water, desperate to cleanse the stench from his skin. As soon as he touched the water, he felt something pawing at him, pulling him further in. A part of him resisted, but that part was much weaker than the rest of him, and all the rest of him wanted was to submerge himself completely.

_"Scott!"_

The voice sounded haltingly familiar. Strong hands were tugging at him, but they were taking him in the wrong direction. The damp of the summer night air made his bones ache, while the cool river leeched the pain from him, just the way he'd done to others so many times before, and he needed it, needed to ease this heaviness weighing him down.

Mercilessly the hands slipped away from him and he drifted down, deep into the water, the stars in the night sky glinting through the gentle rapids as Scott settled snug into the roots of the Lotus snare.

**********

The sight of so many cars on the side of the road would've been amusing to Stiles in any other circumstance. Peter's at the front, Chris' SUV behind it, followed by Deaton's sedan and his dad's cruiser.

And then Roscoe.

Stiles jumped from his Jeep almost as soon as he hit the brakes; taking a last look at the row of vehicles, he tried to shake how much they made him think he was running headfirst towards a funeral.

He interrupted his dad talking in hushed tones with Deaton and Chris by the river's edge. His dad was dressed down, out of his uniform, in a black t-shirt and his swim trunks. Chris was wearing a wet suit, and he looked shaken up; that didn't bode well, in Stiles' mind.

Deaton spotted Stiles first.

"Stiles?"

"What are you doing out here?" his dad asked him. "I don't want you near this thing."

"It's got Scott, right?" Stiles asked, as if that were explanation enough for his presence. "And I know this thing doesn't work on humans, so spare me the concerned lecture, please?"

"The _toxin_ doesn't work on humans," Deaton said. "But it has some manner of sentience, and it can get violent."

"I can vouch for that firsthand," Chris said.

"What happened? I mean, how does this thing work?"

"The flowers release a spore into the air," Deaton began, "one that is intoxicating for werewolves, likely other supernatural creatures as well."

"And once they get drunk on it, they're drawn to the plant," Chris said. "Peter and Scott, Derek and Isaac--they're bound to the roots of this thing by a number of vines. And they're shifted."

"Shifted?" Stiles didn't like the sound of that. "Why would it do that to them? Wouldn't that make them stronger?"

"During a shift, a werewolf is capable of producing larger amounts of dopamine than when they're human," Deaton said. "Dopamine is what this thing feeds on when it takes them."

"So how do we get them out?" the Sheriff asked. "You said we can't cut them free. What other options are there?"

"I have a couple of ideas." Deaton held up a small black box. He knelt down and set the box on the ground, opening it up. "I have a dopamine inhibitor and a paralytic, to start."

"Once they're free, then what?" Stiles asked. "We can't leave this thing out here, right?"

Deaton shook his head. "No, we can't. I have something that will kill it, a pesticide of sorts, but we can't use that until Scott and the others are free. If we use it now, it'll likely kill them as well."

The Sheriff tossed his hands out. "Let's get started then."

Deaton produced a capped syringe and handed it to Stiles' dad.

"I have an extra pair of these wet shoes, if you want them," Chris offered.

"Nah," the Sheriff shook his head. "I got strong feet."

Stiles hugged himself as he watched his father disappear into the river. "He's getting Scott first, right?" He couldn't help the little hitch in his voice as he as asked the question.

"Actually..." Deaton started.

"It was my call," Chris said. "I told him to start with Peter."

"What?" Stiles whipped his head around.

"There's a good chance this won't work," Deaton said.

"And as good a chance it'll kill him," Chris added.

Stiles gulped. Somehow that didn't make it better. "So he's the guinea pig?"

"You could say that," Deaton replied.

The Sheriff came sputtering to the surface and half-swam, half-waded towards the bank until he could walk upright with ease. He handed off the syringe to Deaton. He shook his head.

"What, it didn't work?" Stiles snapped. "Is he dead? What happened?"

The Sheriff eyed his son quizzically. "He had a seizure."

"He what?!"

"He's still alive," the Sheriff said. "But this didn't work."

Stiles felt both his hands hit his own head before he realized he moved them there. It wasn't that he cared about Peter, not really; this whole situation was looking worse and worse.

"The plant likely overcompensated for the inhibitor," Deaton said.

"What does that mean?"

"It drugged him more," Chris said.

"What's the next plan?" the Sheriff asked, dancing around on the bank. "It's cold out here, ya know."

Deaton handed him another syringe. "Paralyzing agent."

"That's going into the plant, right?" Stiles felt him shaking the more he considered the alternative.

"Yes, into one of the vines," Deaton said. "I'm hoping it releases its hold after."

"Hoping." Stiles nodded, not feeling at all optimistic about this plan. "Great."

His dad swam out again, back to the same spot. The tiny ball of regret that Peter was their guinea pig in this started to grow, despite him willing it not to. Would he rather they test it on Scott? No, certainly not, and he knew Scott wouldn't want them testing these things on Derek and Isaac. That only left Peter.

The Sheriff returned, shaking his head again.

"This time, the plant seized," he said, throwing a glance towards Stiles. "And Peter's still alive."

"I didn't ask," Stiles asserted.

"What's next?" Sheriff Stilinski posited to Deaton and Chris.

"What's the end game of this thing anyway?" Stiles asked.

Deaton considered it for a moment. "Well, eventually, despite the oxygen the plant feeds into its victims, they'll drown."

"And it'll release their bodies then?" the Sheriff said.

"It'll release their bodies when they can no longer produce what the plant wants," Deaton replied. "At which point, they'll be intoxicated beyond movement, and they won't surface on their own."

"That's when they drown," Stiles noted. "Fantastic."

"How long until that happens?" Chris asked.

"A matter of hours, I'd imagine. It would be very dangerous to let them get to that point," Deaton said, eyes hard on Chris, "even if they were brought out of the river by someone else."

"Then what else is there?"

"The dopamine inhibitor you gave Peter," Stiles said. "It was synthetic?"

"Yes, why?"

"Okay, so... what if Peter and the others produce their own dopamine inhibitor, naturally. Would that work?"

Deaton shrugged. "It might. It stands to reason that, in their shifted forms, they're capable of producing enough on their own that could counteract the plant's hold, making it think they've been completely drained."

"Great," Stiles said, clapping his hands together. "Now how do we make them do that?"

Deaton sighed. "Well, that's the tricky part, isn't it?"

Chris drew in a deep breath then. "You know there's only one way that's gonna happen."

Deaton met his eyes, and they shared what seemed a five minute silent conversation, until Stiles finally flailed at them.

"Are you gonna share with the class?!"

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose and Deaton crossed his arms over his chest.

"Come on, it can't be that bad," the Sheriff said.

"They'd need to orgasm," Chris stated, a little too matter-of-factly for Stiles' sanity.

But it was his dad who expressed incredulity first. " _Excuse_ me?"

"An orgasm would cause the body to flood with prolactin, which is a natural dopamine inhibitor," Deaton explained. "It would be strong enough to cause them to stop producing dopamine, at least in quantities the Lotus snare requires. Trace amounts should be virtually undetectable to the plant."

"Should be?"

"And how exactly do you propose we..." the Sheriff trailed off. "You know. I mean, I, for one, refuse to jack any of them off."

"If it's the only way to save them?" Deaton said.

"Jacking them off won't do it," Chris interjected.

Stiles waved his arms up. "What are you talking about now?"

"They're shifted," Chris said. "They need to mate."

Stiles stared blankly at Chris, who, to his credit, kept his gaze to the ground.

"You're kidding."

"No, Sheriff," Deaton said on a sigh. He scrubbed his face with both hands, exhaustion clearer on his face than Stiles had ever seen before. "He's right."

"Well," the Sheriff clucked, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea. "I mean... Good luck with that." He laughed darkly. "Who exactly is gonna do that? Huh?"

Chris had his phone out, dialing before Stiles noticed. "Allison can save Isaac, at least," he said quietly. Then he took the call on a walk into the woods, leaving Deaton and the Sheriff standing alone with Stiles.

"We can't ask Kira," Deaton pointed out. "She'll be susceptible to the plant as well."

"I'm not asking anyone," the Sheriff said. "That's just-- I can't ask someone to do that."

"No one is saying that you have to," Deaton said. "And you're right. It may be our only option, but it's a highly unlikely one."

Stiles remained quiet as his dad argued with Deaton over this plan. He thought of what Chris said, about _mating_ , and he wondered if Allison would try to save Scott, too. She probably would. But that would leave Derek and Peter to--

And then he had the dumbest idea he'd ever had in his stupid life.

"Does it--?" Stiles started, unsure of exactly how to ask if it needed to be a woman any of them _mated_ , but Deaton didn't catch it. He was too embroiled in his argument with the Sheriff.

But Stiles knew he had to try.

Stiles spotted the small oxygen tank in Chris' duffel bag. He remembered learning about them in a lifeguard class he'd taken a couple summers back. They only carried enough oxygen for about half an hour of breathing, so he'd have to make it last.

He had his shoes off and was throwing aside his button-down shirt before Deaton and the Sheriff noticed him, and he was in the water with the oxygen tank before they figured out what he was doing.

"Stiles! Get back here!"

"We don't have time to discuss this," Stiles called back. And he dove under before he heard their reply.

He knew which way to go to find Peter, but then he looked in the opposite direction and saw Scott just a few feet away. Of course, now that he was down there, the reality of what he was meant to do smacked him in the face, making him nearly panic. But Scott's vacant alpha stare drove out any panic as quickly as it arrived; his best friend's life was at stake here.

It wasn't like they hadn't fooled around before when they were younger. Best friends entering their teenage years together, of course they're going to explore their budding sexualities with each other. It was one of the things that cemented their bond, and this even before Scott was bitten.

Stiles was relying on that bond to keep him alive when Scott came to himself after--assuming it even worked.

"Sorry about this, buddy," Stiles said to him, the mumbled words bubbling up to the surface.

Strapping the oxygen mask around his face, Stiles breathed in, testing it, and reached for Scott's belt.

Of course, he hadn't considered the logistics of this. He quickly stripped his own pants off, leaving them to float up to the surface, hoping like hell his father would forgive him for this, that _Scott_ would forgive him for this, and that someday he could maybe forgive himself.

Stroking Scott, Stiles found it was easy to arouse him in this state. If it was true the plant was prodding them all into producing more dopamine, then it made sense that Scott would become so quickly erect.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles fought off any questions about what it would mean to fuck a werewolf in its shifted state and straddled Scott's immobile body, wincing as he sank down onto Scott's erection. The stretch wasn't as bad as he was expecting, though it did hurt a little. The water made the friction endurable, and Scott even began to undulate a little beneath him, his body encouraged by Stiles' touches.

It didn't take long to get Scott to come, and when he did, his eyes squeezed shut as he pulsed into Stiles' body. What Stiles didn't expect was what came after; despite the orgasm, Scott seemed to be _growing_ , to the point where Stiles couldn't unseat himself from Scott's dick.

"Fuck," he mumbled beneath the oxygen mask.

Scott's body went slack for a moment. Stiles nearly panicked. But then the vines were releasing Scott's arms and legs, and then finally the vine around his throat detached.

Stiles sighed with relief, cradling Scott's head as he lolled sideways.

But the relief was short-lived.

Scott's eyes shot open, and he looked directly at Stiles, flailing under the water now that his oxygen supply was gone. Stiles still couldn't free himself, so he held his breath and quickly pulled off the oxygen mask to place it over Scott's face.

Taking deep breaths, Scott calmed, holding onto Stiles' hips, not even seeming to care that they were attached still, if he even noticed it. He got his breathing under control, and Stiles felt the knot in his ass shrink. When he was free, Scott pulled the mask down and kissed him.

Before he had a chance to figure out what the hell that was for, Scott slumped forward, and Stiles rushed to get him to the surface.

Chris and the Sheriff waded out to him to grab Scott, who'd fallen unconscious before they got to him. Stiles deftly tucked him back into his pants before they hauled him out of Stiles' reach, and Stiles just floated there, fully aware that the only clothing he had on was a t-shirt and therefore avoiding leaving the river until it was absolutely necessary.

"He's breathing," Deaton pronounced. "His pulse is weak, but I think he'll be all right. I should get him to the clinic."

Chris nodded, helping lift Scott of the ground. He carried him in both arms, following Deaton back towards the road.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah, dad?"

"You coming out of there?"

"Eventually."

His dad nodded, mouth pressed into a thin line. "Allison's on her way," he announced. "She agreed to help Isaac."

"Great," Stiles said.

"Deaton thinks he can track down Braeden somehow, but she may not even be close enough to Beacon Hills for it to make a difference."

Stiles considered the repercussions of losing Derek; he'd become a valued member of Scott's pack, and a good ally when the pack was in a tight spot. There was no way he could forgive himself for letting Derek die down there when he knew a way to save him.

Mentally kicking himself for his second dumbest idea of the night, Stiles checked the oxygen left in the tank; it would be enough for at least one more go. He kind of hated himself for being just as crass about Peter's fate, but didn't the guy kind of deserve it anyway? He'd had his chances; he'd died and come back. Between the two of them, Derek would be the obvious choice.

"I'll be right back," Stiles said. He dove underwater again, his dad's protestations trailing behind him.

He knew where Peter was, and he'd lucked out finding Scott first. He had no idea where Derek was. He could be down river, he could be up river.

Settling on swimming towards Peter, he figured at the least, if he didn't find Derek in time, he could make it back to Peter.

He swam past the wolfed out Peter Hale and winced, that tiny ball of guilt growing again as he left him behind.

**********

Stiles had to surface twice for air before he located Derek. Actually, he located Allison hauling Isaac to the surface, Isaac as limp as Scott had been, and he waited until they were out of the river before swimming over to find Derek close by. He surfaced briefly.

Allison spotted him and stared at him with the most curious expression. "Stiles?"

She'd lain Isaac on the riverbank, one hand on his throat.

"Is he good?"

"I think so," she said. "Just unconscious."

"I'm, uh, here for Derek," Stiles said. "Just... so you know."

"I'll tell the others," she said. "Good luck, I guess?"

Stiles chuckled nervously and dove back beneath the water.

Derek was completely wolfed out, sideburns, furrowed brow, everything. Stiles probably shouldn't have been turned on by that, yet there he was, finding himself getting hard thinking about taking Derek and _Jesus Christ stop thinking about it that way_ , he chided himself.

He put on the oxygen mask and cupped Derek's cheek, willing him to accept his apology in advance. "It's the only way to get you outta here," he said, muffled under the mask.

Derek was bigger than Scott; Stiles felt like he should've expected that. Scott had been effortless by comparison, to the point that Stiles worried he'd run out of oxygen bracing himself before he even got going. Fully seated, he started moving gently, rocking his hips, remembering Scott's knot and willing himself not to think about whether Derek's would actually split him open.

Stiles leaned forward, heading resting on Derek's shoulder as he increased his speed, hopeful he was near done when Derek started moving as well, thrusting up into him in shaking jerks muted by the plant's neurotoxin.

Derek's orgasm hit Stiles hard; he ended up coming himself, adding to his guilt when he felt his come leaking into the river from between their bodies pressed together.

He watched the vines receding, but Derek still hadn't awoken yet. After Isaac, he'd been down there the longest; Stiles desperately hoped that didn't mean he'd been too late. The vine around his throat still clung to him, and Stiles hadn't felt his knot.

With a shake of his head, Stiles started moving again. This time when Derek came, he knotted Stiles immediately, and the vine slipped away from his neck. Stiles was afraid of what would happen when Derek came to himself. Would he pull Stiles off of him before it was safe to? Not that he'd be able to blame him for that.

Before Derek opened his eyes, Stiles put the mask over his face. Maybe avoiding the panic of waking underwater with no oxygen would stave off any rage he might feel at finding Stiles fucking himself on his dick.

Stiles' worries proved unfounded. When Derek came to, he held onto Stiles, passing the oxygen mask back and forth until they could detach. It was oddly intimate in a way Stiles never thought of where Derek was concerned.

A minute later, they were both able to surface. Derek clung to Stiles, too weak to swim by himself.

"You know, this is the second time I'm saving you from drowning," Stiles pointed out.

"Yeah, maybe next time... you'll buy me dinner first," Derek mumbled.

"Ha ha," Stiles said.

Almost as soon as he said that, Derek blacked out and sunk below the water again; Stiles hurried to catch him under his arms and haul him up, feeling not unlike a mermaid rescuing a drowned sailor.

He got him to the bank before Chris and his dad showed up.

"Hey," Stiles said weakly, waving around the little oxygen tank. "You don't happen to have another one of these?"

Chris and the Sheriff shared a disbelieving look before turning that stare on Stiles.

"What? Unless one of you got to Peter already?"

"Stiles, you don't have to--"

"I'm already in here," Stiles said. "I'm past traumatized at this point. Seriously. Another tank?"

"Here," Chris said, unfurling an emergency blanket and holding it for him. "There's another one in my bag. It'll be easier to walk than swim there."

**********

Stiles' legs were trembling when he got back into the river, finding a spot away from his dad and Chris so he could chuck the blanket before wading in. Chris had been the one to fish his pants from the river, of which Stiles was only a fraction less ashamed than he would have been had it been his dad instead.

Not only his legs but his ass was sore, and he nearly hesitated when he considered that Peter might be even bigger than Derek. He wouldn't know until he got there, and even then he knew he wouldn't change his mind once he made it up.

With the fresh oxygen tank in hand, he resolved himself to his fate, and dove underwater to find Peter.

But something was wrong when Stiles found him; the vines still clung to his arms and legs, and there was one around his throat, except Peter was no longer wolfed out. In fact, his head had dropped forward and his eyes were shut, and he looked entirely dead.

Stiles checked him for a pulse. He almost felt relieved to find one, until he noticed how sporadically it thumped beneath his fingers. It might've been a side effect of the earlier injection, or maybe he'd been affected differently because of his whole coming-back-from-the-dead thing--who knew? He could only hope that releasing Peter, the same way he'd released Scott and Derek, would have no worse repercussions than any he was already experiencing.

Instead of getting to it, though, Stiles tilted Peter's head up, holding it with both hands. If they were on dry land, he might've tapped him on the side of the face to rouse him, but the water impeded such movements, so all he could do was drag a thumb across his bottom lip. And then he pulled aside the oxygen mask and leaned forward to kiss him.

He felt Peter's head slip from his hand, but it wasn't so much slipping as it was Peter groggily lifting it away from Stiles' hand as he returned the kiss. His eyes peeked open, staring lazily at Stiles.

And the bastard smirked.

Stiles tugged at the vines, but they wouldn't budge. He put the mask back on and tried with both hands, but still no give. He met Peter's eyes and found in them the saddest expression he'd ever seen on Peter's face. It was a resigned sadness, too, which made it all the worse.

Knowing what he had to do, Stiles set about trying to communicate it to Peter, since he would actually be cognizant of his actions the whole time. The fact he wasn't wearing pants probably clued Peter into Stiles' intentions before he even thought about it, and as soon as he remembered, he set to covering himself.

The smirk on Peter's face returned and he shook his head in exasperation.

So Stiles got on with it. He hurriedly freed Peter from his own slacks and straddled his thighs, stroking him to hardness. He kept one hand near his throat at all times though, monitoring Peter's pulse as best he could. The last thing he'd want to do was give the guy a heart attack or something while he was riding him.

Peter turned out to be close to the same size as Derek, so at least Stiles was already prepped. He felt weird all of a sudden fucking Peter when he'd just fucked the guy's nephew, too, but he really had no choice.

Or, okay, he _had_ a choice, just not one that would allow him to live with himself afterward.

Peter nuzzled against Stiles' throat when he leaned forward, rocking into him, and from the corner of his eye he could see Peter straining against the vines that held him, hands reaching forward as if he wanted to touch Stiles while he fucked him.

So Stiles linked his free hand with Peter's, twisting their fingers together, and without much more effort, drew an orgasm from him.

On instinct, Peter attempted to draw in a sharp breath, gulping down water as he did. Stiles watched him choke on the inhalation, and he hurried to cover Peter's face with the oxygen mask, holding his own breath as Peter rode the orgasm out, pumping deeply and spilling into Stiles' body.

When the vines released him, Peter held tightly to Stiles and hurried them both skyward. Stiles didn't have a chance to notice that Peter had pulled out.

Breaking the surface, Stiles coughed up what little water he'd swallowed. Peter pulled off the oxygen mask and flung it to the riverbank. He spotted the discarded blanket while Stiles righted himself, and he hauled them both out of the water, quickly wrapping Stiles up to cover his now-shivering body. Peter rubbed at his arms to warm him.

"You're the last person I expected to come to my rescue," Peter panted as he did up his pants. "Especially... considering all it entailed."

He slumped down beside Stiles, exhaustion clear on his face.

"You're welcome," Stiles breathed out.

"Derek?" Peter asked, hesitantly adding, "And Isaac?"

"They're fine," Stiles replied. "Hey. Can I ask you, uh... a weird question?"

"Might as well."

"How come you didn't-- I mean, you weren't wolfed out. Like the others."

"I think that little injection your father gave me probably had something to do with that," Peter replied, propping up on one elbow. "Why?"

"Oh, it's... well, the others, they... when I..."

"Just spit it out, Stiles."

"Why didn't you knot me?"

Peter's breathing slowed considerably. He sat up, avoiding Stiles' eyes. "I could've," he said finally, "if I'd been in my shifted form at the time."

"Huh," Stiles mused. "I always thought that was just something made up for, uh... like. Fiction. But it's real. So weird."

Peter got to his feet. "It requires a lot of trust," he said.

"Or a lot of drugs, apparently," Stiles noted.

Then Peter helped Stiles up and, before Stiles could protest, scooped him into his arms and carried him away from the river.

Stiles would've said he could walk, but he wasn't entirely certain that'd be the truth.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes in for the sonogram.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After posting the last chapter, I did a lot of plotting. Hence why this chapter is a day earlier than I said, because I am EXCITED about what's going to happen and I couldn't stop myself from writing the next chapter. I know who the baby daddy is. I know what the endgame pairing (or pairings!) will be. And there's a huge fucking mystery afoot besides that.
> 
> But I'm not going to divulge endgame stuff here because I want to maintain suspense. HOWEVER, if you really must know what the endgame pairing (or pairings) will be (or won't be), send me [an ask at my tumblr](http://migratoryslashfan.tumblr.com/ask). (Pairing questions must be attached to a username so I can answer you privately and not give the ending away. Non-pairing questions can be anon tho, if for some reason you have a burning need to ask me things anon.)
> 
> THANK YOU to everyone who has stuck around, and commented (oh my gosh the comments. like woah.), and thanks to everyone who continues to read. :)

Stiles' knee bounced uncontrollably against the dashboard of Melissa's car. He wasn't sure what Scott told her when he asked to borrow it for the night, and he kept forgetting to ask. It wasn't really important though, was it? Scott was here, like he said he'd be, like Stiles knew he'd be, and that was all that mattered.

After telling Scott he was pregnant, Stiles tried to take it easy for a couple weeks, and he was mostly successful about it. He didn't get nauseous until about four in the afternoon, right as he finished running track (which Deaton assured him was probably still fine for him to do as long as he didn't push himself too much). In the mornings he dealt with dizziness and being even more ravenously hungry than a teenage boy had a right to be. He didn't gain any weight though, which his dad pointed out one morning when Stiles went for seconds at breakfast for the third day in a row.

He'd even made a go of forgetting what exactly it was he was waiting for. Yet despite the fact he hadn't written anything on his calendar about it, the big red circle around the approaching date of the sonogram had reminded Stiles of it every morning.

And now they were there at Deaton's, arriving just as the last person left with their beagle in tow.

"Stiles?"

He registered that Scott wanted his attention.

"Yeah?"

"Are you all right?"

Scott nodded towards Stiles' bouncing knee.

"I stopped taking my adderall," he confessed.

"Seriously? Why?"

"What if it's-- It could be bad for the baby."

"Did you ask Deaton about it?"

"Yeah, and he wasn't sure," Stiles said. "He didn't tell me to stop, I just... figured I should."

"Stiles..."

"I don't need it every day, so it's... I only take it once or twice a week, usually. But it's been two weeks now, and I can't sit still, and I haven't been able to think straight for days, and I--" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "I don't know if I can make it for eight more months of this. It's not like I could tell my regular doctor about it."

"I'll ask my mom about it. If you shouldn't take it, you can tell your doctor that it stopped working or something."

"And anything I else get prescribed is probably gonna cost more," Stiles noted.

"Stiles? Can I ask you something?"

He met Scott's eyes. The concerned note in his voice sounded serious. "Sure."

"You've already decided, haven't you?"

Stiles' attention wandered, glancing out the window, then to the window crank on the inside of his door. He gave the knob a couple of spins. "What gave it away?"

"Besides the not taking adderall, the intentionally falling behind everyone during practice, and the fact that you want a sonogram?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, Stiles-- of _course_ I'm not mad," Scott assured him. "I mean, come on. I've been hiding how excited I am about this because I didn't wanna put pressure on you about it."

"It's just... What if keeping it is the wrong choice? What if... What about school, you know?" He looked at Scott, trying hard to keep from tearing up about it. "What about college? What about having a job some day? What about adding on to the burden my dad's already under?"

Scott laid a hand on Stiles' knee. It stilled, briefly, under the gentle pressure. "This isn't some burden, Stiles. All those things you mentioned are things that can be managed. Okay? People do it all the time. And you'll have people around you helping you, if this is what you really want."

Stiles couldn't help to cry a little over Scott's words; he sniffed, wiped his eyes dry.

"You'll have me, Stiles."

Leaning over the partition between them, Stiles pulled Scott into a hug. They sat there for a moment, the sun setting around them.

"Come on," Scott said finally, disentangling himself from Stiles' arms, and he smiled. "Deaton's waiting for us."

Once out of the car, Stiles inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. It sort of worked, but Scott had essentially primed him for it, his reassurances doing more to ease Stiles' worries than anything he could have told himself on his own.

They came in via the back entrance. Alan Deaton appeared from the front of the clinic and gave them a small smile. "Hello, Stiles. Scott."

"Hey." Stiles hugged himself, feet glued to the spot just inside the door.

"I've got the ultrasound set up in my office," Deaton said, gesturing inside. "I figured the couch in there would be more comfortable than the exam table."

"Sounds good," Scott said, nodding when Stiles looked to him for direction.

"Let's do it, then," Stiles said.

"I'll wait for you out front," Scott said.

But Stiles grabbed his hand and hauled him into the office behind him. Scott squeezed his hand back, sitting on the arm of the couch, keeping a grounding hand on Stiles' shoulder as Stiles nervously watched Deaton flip open a case the size of a computer bag to reveal the ultrasound machine.

The machine itself was about the size of a laptop; the base of the monitor popped out of the case to allow for an adjustable tilt. The keyboard had a standard QWERTY set-up with several additional keys and a knob. There was a cord attached to the CPU where a cable was plugged into a USB port. At the other end of the cable was a device that looked like an electric razor, only, wherever the blades would be, there was a flat sensor.

"Lie flat please," Deaton told him. "And lift up your shirt."

Stiles did as he was told, exposing his belly to the cool air. Since he was too tall to lie on the couch completely, Scott held Stiles' feet across his lap, tapping fingers on Stiles' ankles and subtly taking some of his nervousness away whenever he touched skin.

"You'll need to unfasten your jeans," Deaton said, popping open the cap to a tube of gel.

After he swallowed down self-consciousness, Stiles unbuttoned his jeans, lowering the zipper and folding down the flaps. Then he didn't know what to do with his hands. Normally, laying on his back, his hands would instinctively gravitate over his belly. Since that would defeat the point of being here, he settled one arm under his head, the other across his chest at first, then down by his side when that felt too awkward.

Deaton dripped some of the gel onto Stiles' skin; it was cold where it landed. He used the sensor to spread the gel around on Stiles' stomach, watching the image on the monitor silently.

After a moment of patient waiting, Stiles cleared his throat. "Is it normal that I'm still..." He gestured with a nod to his stomach. "Flat?"

"You'll have to forgive me, I'm not used to making conversation when I do this." Deaton gave Stiles a smile. "It's still early, and the embryo will be under a centimeter in length at this stage. I wouldn't worry about it yet."

Deaton moved the sensor a bit low on his abdomen, and Stiles felt his cheeks burn a little with embarrassment.

"So tell me how you've been feeling," Deaton said, maybe because he wanted to know, or maybe because he noticed Stiles freaking out a little. Either way, talking was a distraction, for which Stiles was grateful.

"Okay, I guess," Stiles replied. "Dizzy in the morning. Sometimes I throw up in the afternoon."

"Do you ever faint? Does the dizziness pass?"

Deaton pressed the sensor in a little, the pressure unexpected. It didn't hurt exactly, but it wasn't the most comfortable thing to have done. Stiles gripped the edge of the couch. "It only lasts a minute," he said. "I haven't fainted."

"Blood pressure tends to decrease as pregnancy continues, until you get to the fifth month. Then it goes back up," Deaton said. "Lying on your left side will increase blood flow to your heart and brain, which should help. Also give yourself time to adjust to sitting up before you stand first thing in the morning."

"So many rules," Stiles mumbled. He noticed he was beginning to relax. When he looked down to where Scott was holding his feet, he saw traces of black tendrils coursing up Scott's arm where it wasn't covered by his sleeve.

"Will that make his dizziness stop?" Scott asked.

"It should ease it, at the least," Deaton replied, then added, looking at Stiles, "And it'll keep you from injuring yourself if you do happen to faint."

"Great, because my dignity needed another hit," Stiles said.

Deaton raised his free hand, pointing to a black circle among the white striations on the screen. "That's the gestational sac," he said.

"The what?" Scott asked.

"It's the cavity of fluid holding the embryo," Deaton said. He tapped a white ring inside the black, along the edge.

Scott's smile dipped a little. Stiles took note of it.

"What is it?" Stiles asked.

At his words, Deaton looked up at Scott, eyebrow raised.

"It's just..." Scott said, "for someone who's never seen a pregnant man before, you're being very sanguine about this."

Deaton chuckled. "How would you like me to react, Scott?"

"Yeah, I'm the panicky one," Stiles said, prodding Scott's chin with the toe of his shoe.

"Gross, dude," Scott said, pulling his foot back down. "Your shoes have been in too many places."

"So where is it?" Stiles asked. "I mean, I don't have a uterus, so how the hell is it in there?"

"That is a question to which I have no answer," Deaton said with an apologetic smile. "Best I can tell, an organ much like a uterus has grown around the embryo itself. It's quite fascinating, actually."

"I don't believe it. You wanna put me under a microscope, don't you?"

That earned a chuckle from the vet. "I doubt you'd fit." Then he flipped a switch on the ultrasound, and a pulsating _whooshing_ sound filled the office.

"Oh, my god," Scott said. Suddenly Stiles' feet were resting on the arm of the couch as Scott all but leapt over to watch the little pulsing dot on the monitor. "Is that the heartbeat?"

"It is," Deaton confirmed. "So far, Stiles, everything looks good, even if a bit bizarre. Do you want me to print a picture for you?"

"Hell, yeah," Scott said. Then his mouth dropped open. "I mean. Stiles?"

With a roll of his eyes, Stiles said, "Yes, we want a picture."

The _whooshing_ changed pitch, and Deaton frowned. "Wait a second."

Stiles almost sat up but caught himself. "What is it?" The heartbeat fluttered faintly as Deaton moved the sensor around, searching for something. Staving off panic became increasingly difficult the longer Deaton remained silent. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Deaton said. "Not exactly." He moved the sensor over another inch and a small black sphere appeared on the screen, a pulsing white dot inside it. "It's a second embryo."

"Holy shit," Stiles said, propping up on his elbow. Deaton managed to hold the sensor in place, though it jostled back over to the first. "You're serious?"

Deaton pointed them out individually. "There's the first, again," he said, moving the sensor, "and there's the second."

"What the hell am I gonna do with two of 'em?" Stiles all but screeched.

"What were you going to do with one?" Scott asked back.

"My dad is gonna kill me," Stiles said.

Deaton couldn't get them both in the same frame, so he had to print two pictures. Stiles immediately handed one over to Scott.

"Here," he said, "put that in your locker or something."

Scott laughed. "Dude, I'm totally framing this."

After giving Stiles a tissue to wipe off the gel, Deaton put away the ultrasound. "If you'll both excuse me," he said, "I'm going to check on the animals for the night. I'll let you know when I'm ready to lock up." He shared a look with Scott, one that Stiles was too busy to notice; Scott gave Deaton a somber nod before the vet disappeared from the office, shutting the door with a quiet click behind him.

Scott sat down next to Stiles, shoulder to shoulder, and watched as he lost himself to the image, tracing the tiny embryo with his fingertip. Then Stiles' breath caught on an inhale.

"Scott?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

Stiles looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. "I want to keep them."

Scott nodded. "It's settled then." Then he smiled, a beaming smile that he was no longer able to suppress. Pretty soon, even Stiles was smiling, because Scott's happiness could be downright infectious sometimes. They held each other's hand, leaning back against the couch, and started making bets on whether they'd be boys or girls.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tells Peter and Derek the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. Rereading for typos, I just realized I accidentally foreshadowing. :)

Downtown Beacon Hills always gave Stiles the creeps. Actually, _all_ of the urban area of Beacon Hills gave him the creeps. More than half the corporations that had built the skyscrapers gracing the Beacon Hills skyline had long since fled or gone under, the buildings no longer maintained. The warehouse district was the worst: buildings with smashed in windows and overgrown grass spilling onto the sidewalk--at least, where there _was_ a sidewalk. Stiles had no idea why Derek still chose to live there, but he supposed it was a step in the right direction from squatting in his family's burned-out house.

From what his dad told him, Beacon Hills used to be a vibrant metropolis. It was no major cityscape, not like an L.A. or a New York or anything, but people who'd never even visited before had moved here on purpose at one point. Now it was the home of families who'd been there for generations and couldn't let the place go, or people who couldn't get out for whatever reason. Or werewolves.

Where the warehouse district was left to rot, the downtown area was comparatively posh. Anyone who maintained residence or a place of business there kept up their little corner of it, and sometimes vacant areas nearby, so that the former glory of Beacon Hills shone through on occasion. Peter's apartment building was one such well-kempt structure, and despite the fenced-off abandoned lot to its right and the sparsely populated shopping center to its left, Stiles still felt you'd have to be wealthy to live there. The four-story u-shaped building enclosed a vibrant garden with a fountain at its center, the sidewalk around it spurring off into walkways that led to each of its three entrances. Each door required a swipe card to gain entry, or to be buzzed in via the call box at the center door. Stiles wasn't sure Peter would even let him in. He could have jumped inside when someone left, but on peering inside when the door popped open, he saw there was a guard on duty who he'd have to pass on the way to the elevator. Besides which, he didn't even know which apartment was Peter's.

So Stiles scrolled through the names in the call box, found Peter's, and pressed the button to call him, unable to stop his finger from shaking as he did so.

Peter's voice came through the speaker, sounding a little put-out at having to respond.

_"Since I'm not expecting anyone, I can only assume you're a Jehovah's Witness come to proselytize, so I'll just save you the trouble: I'm not interested."_

Stiles scoffed. He pushed the call button again, this time with a little more confidence.

 _"What?"_ Peter snapped through the line.

"It's Stiles."

He waited, and for a minute, he thought that coming here had been a bad decision. Then the call box buzzed, and as Stiles yanked on the door, Peter spoke.

_"Tell the security guard you're here for Jack Traven, then come up to apartment seven-one-eight. Fourth floor."_

Stiles gulped. He hadn't expected it to be that easy, sure he'd have to harangue Peter to let him in without divulging his condition right there for all the free world to hear. What little of the free world there was in downtown Beacon Hills, anyway.

He got past the guard quickly and up to the fourth floor, pausing when he stepped off the elevator. He realized his hands were sweating, so wiped them off on the thighs of his jeans. Then he took a few hesitant steps forward.

Somewhere down the hallway, a door opened. Stiles paused, half-expecting Peter to stick his head out and ask him what was taking him so long. It turned out to be another tenant, some guy in a suit chattering on his phone, locking up behind himself as he hurried to the elevator.

Seven-one-eight. Easily found. Stiles knocked, a couple of soft taps at first. Then with a deep breath, he knocked firmly, three times.

He heard shuffling footfalls on the other side of the door, then a bolt unlatching, and finally the door opened, Peter standing there with a curious expression on his face.

"This is a surprise," Peter said. "New menace in town?"

Stiles shook his head. "I didn't know you were a fan of nineties' action movies," he said, stalling.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Are you coming in or not?"

Stiles stepped inside the door, stopping when a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Shoes off," Peter said.

Stiles spotted the shoe rack on the floor and toed his sneakers off, placing them on the black metal frame where Peter's boots also rested.

"Technically, I'm legally dead," Peter explained, answering Stiles' earlier question. "I paid them enough of a security deposit that they didn't bother with a background check but I still needed to put a name on the lease."

"Fancy place like this?" Stiles said, motioning around the-- _whoa, totally swank_ \--apartment. "I'm surprised they didn't."

"Cash speaks louder than credit history," Peter replied. At this point, he folded his arms over his chest and stared directly into Stiles' eyes. "What are you doing here, Stiles?"

"Well, I--" Stiles mirrored Peter's stance, but it didn't seem to have the same authority to it that Peter's did. It definitely didn't make him any calmer. Or steadier on his feet. He felt himself swaying in position. "Can we sit?"

"Stiles, just spit it--"

Blindly reaching out, Stiles nearly collapsed right there. He was working himself into a frenzy, being worried over how Peter would react to his news, and that couldn't be good for him. Or _them_. But he didn't fall. Peter caught hold of his waving arm and guided him towards the sofa.

Even with his head suddenly swimming, Stiles noticed just how nice the sofa was. Black leather, long enough to seat seven or eight people, curving around the area rug on which sat a long coffee table.

And spread out on the coffee table were various important-looking papers inside open manila folders, along with maps and travel guides to major cities around the world: New York. Washington, D.C. Atlanta. London. Tokyo.

Stiles balked.

"What's all this for?"

Peter sighed, taking a seat in the rolling desk chair that sat opposite the sofa. There was a leather-bound journal in the desk chair, worn and burnt around some of its edges, that Peter moved to the coffee table so he could sit.

"Are you leaving?" Even Stiles could hear the note of panic creeping into his voice.

"Why? Would you miss me?" Peter retorted. "As fun as your visit has become, I really do have work to do. So?"

Stiles licked his lips, cognizant of his already over-worn welcome. _Now or never, Stilinski._ "The thing is, I'm--" He still couldn't wrap his mouth around the words, not as easily as he had with Scott. So he did the next best thing, pulling out the ultrasound photo from his pocket. He unfolded it and handed it to Peter.

Then he stared at his hands, clasped together in front of himself, unable to still his knee bouncing up and down.

"Is this...?" Peter's voice came out nearly breathless.

Stiles looked up sharply at the words. In Peter's eyes, faintly and gone almost a second later, was an expression of deepest want, a longing that made him appear vulnerable in a way Stiles never imagined possible. But Peter must have felt Stiles watching him, as he quickly composed himself, scowling at Stiles as he handed over the picture.

"It'll either be Scott's or Derek's," he said. "Not mine."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I didn't knot you," Peter replied. "Remember?"

"That's how it happens?"

"What, Deaton didn't say?"

"No," Stiles affirmed. "I guess he figured I knew. Based on the evidence in hand."

"Well, that's how it happens," Peter said. "At least where male carriers are concerned. Now, if that's all?"

Stiles hummed an affirmative and refolded the picture, stuffing it into his pocket on the way to the door.

He glanced back once at Peter, grabbed his shoes, and left without another word. He didn't put his shoes back on until he reached the elevator, waiting for it to come back up. When he was done before it got there, he pressed the button frantically, his chest heaving with hastening emotions. He couldn't believe he was letting Peter's rejection get to him like this. And of course, Peter was probably right. Stiles would confirm it with Deaton later, about the knotting being the factor that led to all this, but Peter had no reason to lie about it, especially when it seemed so much to Stiles that Peter maybe _wanted_ it to have been his. And wasn't that strange enough by itself?

Once the elevator doors shut behind him, Stiles let the tears finally come, and cursed his hormones as the reason for their existence.

**********

Back in his Jeep, Stiles sent a quick text to Scott. He waited a minute, composing himself before attempting to drive to Derek's. He figured since he was already in the city proper, he might as well get it over with.

It wasn't that he expected Derek to be in any way, shape, or form an asshole about it; but, Derek had distanced himself not only from Stiles after the events at the river, but from Scott and the rest of the pack as well.

Stiles heard his phone buzzing at him and picked it up, checking the screen before answering it.

"Scott? What's up?"

_"Nothing's up. You texted me first."_

"Yeah, but I didn't think, 'Peter's not it', merited a phone call," Stiles replied.

_"How do you know it's not him?"_

"It had to do with you and Derek being shifted when we-- I mean, when I--"

 _"Stiles, it's okay,"_ Scott assured him. _"I told you I was fine. You saved my life, that's the end of it."_

Stiles nodded to himself, knowing that Scott had forgiven and would gladly keep reminding Stiles of that fact until he no longer felt like a sexual predator for having sex with Scott in order to save his life. Peter gave him the impression that he'd forgiven Stiles, too, that he might've even found it bittersweet (and wasn't that an eye-opening revelation), but Derek? The guy didn't exactly have a good track record with sex partners as it was, and he hadn't seen much of Stiles since that night. The one time they'd crossed paths since then had been on accident and over very quickly, as Derek put down the half gallon of milk he was perusing at the Ralph's and quietly exited the store before Stiles could leave his dad's side long enough to catch up with him. Remembering the brief moment, Stiles realized that had been the day before he'd hung out at Scott's for a movie and pizza night, the very same night he'd klepto'd one of the ancient pregnancy testers from Melissa's forgotten stock.

 _"Did Peter say anything else?"_ Scott asked when Stiles was too quiet for too long.

"No, that was it," Stiles lied. He briefly considered telling Scott that Peter was planning to leave town, but thought he'd keep it to himself, and to Peter, for a while.

_"You're talking to Derek next?"_

"I'm gonna try to," Stiles said. "If he'll give me the time of day."

 _"Good luck,"_ Scott told him. _"Call me if you want my help."_

"Yeah, okay. Thanks, Scott."

He hung up, sitting alone for a moment, contemplating calling Scott back and taking him up on his offer, but he didn't want Derek to feel like they were ganging up on him or something. For all Stiles knew, Derek felt guilty himself for the whole mess. Actually, the more Stiles considered it, the more he realized that was probably the issue, seeing as how it was Derek who had Isaac out there in the first place, investigating the strange scent that emanated from the Lotus snare to permeate the entire Preserve. With a shake of his head at thinking this had actually been about _him_ , and not Derek's own issues with life, the universe, and everything, Stiles cranked the Jeep and checked his rearview mirror for oncoming traffic.

From his window on the fourth floor, unknown to Stiles as he pulled away from the curb, Peter watched, waiting until the Jeep was out of sight before he shut his curtains with an anguished sigh.

**********

When he arrived at the loft, Derek seemed to be expecting him, opening his door and leaning onto the stair railing as he waited for Stiles to finish his ascent. He really should have taken the elevator here as well, but he didn't need to totally forgo exercise, and besides, he seemed to have his composure back since telling Peter was out of the way.

As calm as Derek appeared, things quickly escalated when Stiles opened his mouth.

"Did Peter tell you I was coming?"

Derek stood up straight, frowning. "You already told Peter?"

It was Stiles' turn to frown then. "You _knew_?"

"I smelled it on you at the grocery store," Derek admitted.

"Oh, and you didn't think to tell _me_ about it? Like, ever?"

Stiles stomped into the loft, Derek on his heels. He didn't respond until the door was shut.

"I'm sorry, I-- I didn't know how," Derek said. "I was confused at first. I never knew it was possible."

"So how were you sure that's why I was here?!"

"Because I asked!" Derek shouted. Then he sighed, pulled himself together and added, more calmly, "I called Deaton that night. I asked him if-- not anything particular. I didn't mention your name, but he's not an idiot. I just asked if it was possible."

Stiles dropped onto the couch, hands through his hair, tugging as he tried to figure out how his life got so completely screwed in such a short amount of time.

"So how'd you figure it out?" Derek asked, still standing.

"I took a pregnancy test," Stiles said, throwing up his arms and huffing back against the couch. "I saw the box of 'em at Scott's house, thought it would be a good laugh, right? Well, I definitely wasn't laughing."

Derek walked over and sat on the edge of the coffee table, his movements cautious as if he might frighten Stiles away. Their knees scraped together briefly, before Derek moved back an inch to give Stiles more space.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I should have-- I don't know. Said something. You were probably freaking out about it, too."

"Lucky guess," Stiles said.

"I'm guessing Scott knows, too," Derek said. "Have you told your dad yet?"

"Nah," Stiles shrugged. "Figured I'd give the baby daddies a chance to kill me first."

Derek scoffed, ducking his head to hide a grin. "No one's gonna kill you for this," he said.

"Says you."

"They'll have a pack of wolves to get through first."

"Oh, good, your protective streak has been activated." The easiness between them melted in the silence, and, all joking aside, Stiles allowed the worry to seep back into his bones. Derek must've noticed, because as soon as Stiles felt his face go hot, hormones stirring up his emotions again, Derek placed a hand over Stiles' hand where it rested on his knee and zapped away some of his panic. Stiles had never realized that worked with emotional pain as well as physical.

"Peter said it's either yours or Scott's," he heard himself say.

Derek scoffed. "Figures he wouldn't want anything to do with this."

"Actually, he said it was because he wasn't shifted when we..." Stiles trailed off, allowing Derek to fill in the blanks on his own and leaving out the fact that Peter had seemed disappointed it couldn't be his.

"But he was trapped in the Lotus snare," Derek said, confusion clear in his voice. "He wouldn't have been able to--"

"Deaton gave him a shot of a synthetic hormone, to try to free him," Stiles explained, cutting Derek off before he could get too far into a conniption fit. "I asked him why he... _un-shifted_ , and Peter figured the injection was why. It didn't release him completely, but enough that he could shift back."

Derek nodded. "So it's either mine or Scott's."

"Like I said."

"Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"Yeah, I made up my mind a few days ago," Stiles said. He pulled out the picture again and handed it to Derek. "I'm keeping them."

"Them?" Derek's eyes scanned the image, overwhelmed by the visual confirmation of the child Stiles carried.

"Yep," Stiles said. "It's twins." He tapped the picture. "There's only one here, Scott has the second picture. Deaton, uh, he couldn't get 'em both in the same frame." He shrugged, waiting for Derek to process the new information.

When he did, he looked up at Stiles and said something pleasantly unexpected.

"Are you hungry?"

Stiles grinned. "Of course I am. What kind of a dumb question is that?"

Derek smiled, and that was when Stiles knew they were all right.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek makes an offer to Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act One is over. (Yes, I write longer things with a three act structure.) Act Two is gonna be intense.
> 
> So sorry this took forever to get out! I've had a very long week and didn't have much time to write. I should have another chapter up ~~today or tomorrow~~ on Tuesday (sorry).

Stiles woke with a desperate need to take a piss. Shifting under the weight of the arm slung across his chest, he moved gingerly, both so he didn't wake Derek and also to keep from leaking before he made it to the bathroom.

Fortunately, Derek was sleeping deep enough that Stiles' movements hadn't even made him flinch.

He made it just in time, sitting so he wouldn't fall over and piss all over Derek's bathroom. As relief washed over him, he rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up. The loft had been softly lit when he woke, so the sun wasn't completely up yet.

As Stiles washed his hands, his mind drifted to the previous night, to the home-cooked meal Derek made for them and their shock at seeing a thunderstorm in Beacon Hills in the middle of October. Derek had gone into hyper-protective mode and made Stiles stay the night. Not that he minded; he hated driving in the rain anyway. So he'd agreed, texting his dad where he'd be for the night and figuring he'd take the couch.

Stiles had come back inside to find Derek making up the couch (and yes, it was dumb to take a phone call in the stairwell of a building where a werewolf lives; Stiles liked the illusion of privacy sometimes). Only, before Stiles could cross the loft, Derek sat on the couch and made himself comfortable.

"Let me know if you need anything," Derek told him. "Even if you have to wake me up."

"But I--" Stiles gestured to the bed, noticing the sheets had been turned down. "Are you sure?"

"Sure about what?"

"The... I mean, I could sleep on the couch," Stiles stammered.

"Don't be ridiculous," Derek said, and before Stiles could argue further, he added, "As a guest in my home, I insist you take the bed."

Stiles shut his mouth and nodded. "Okay." He watched Derek get comfortable and close his eyes before drifting over to the bed. Since he didn't have pajamas, he settled on stepping out of his jeans and sleeping in his boxers and t-shirt. Then he spent a good hour alternating between sitting on the bed's edge, staring out through the large window overlooking the city, and lying down pretending he could actually fall asleep.

He was on another round of the sit-and-stare portion of the night when he heard feet shuffling towards him, and glanced up to see Derek, eyes barely open, standing at the foot of the bed.

"You haven't slept?" he asked.

"Tried to," Stiles said. "Just... things keep going through my mind."

Derek sat on the bed beside him. "Such as?"

"I keep wondering if they're gonna be werewolves," Stiles admitted.

Derek took in a deep breath and pondered the query for a moment. "Mating during a shift is the only way you get a born wolf."

"Whoa, seriously?"

"Yep."

"That is... seriously more than I ever wanted to know about your parents' sex lives."

With a scoff, Derek cuffed Stiles on the back of the head. Stiles smacked his hand away despite the fact that it was too late to do any good, and made a pointed move a couple inches away from Derek.

"You said one time that not all your family were werewolves though. How'd that happen if the children of werewolves are always werewolves themselves?"

"The thing is," Derek started, taking his time to put together what he said, "there's a reason the Hale family motto--one of them, anyway--is that the bite is a gift. See, most alphas, they'll bite the children of their pack members before they're old enough to go to school. It's easier to turn a child--their mortality rate with the bite is significantly lower. But my great-great-grandfather did it differently, and it's the way the Hales have done it ever since--well, with a couple of very recent exceptions."

"And what way is that?"

"We never turn anyone before their 10th year, and never without their consent."

"So... you're saying you weren't actually born a werewolf," Stiles said.

"No, I wasn't," Derek replied. "Neither was Laura, or Peter, or Cora. Or my mother."

"Wow, that's... so you agreed to the bite? How old were you?"

"I was thirteen," Derek said.

They sat quietly a moment, Stiles soaking it all in.

"Why are you asking me all this now?"

"Oh, sorry. I'm asking too many questions."

"No, I mean. Why now, why not at dinner? You were quiet--too quiet, for you."

"I kept waiting for you to ask _me_ stuff."

"Like what?"

"Like, I don't know. Why did I decide to go through with it? Have I thought of any names yet?" Stiles shrugged, trying to come up with more questions Derek could have possibly asked. "Am I planning to home-school them?"

Derek snorted, and Stiles looked up to see he was laughing.

"All right now," Stiles said.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Planning to home-school them?"

"God, no," Stiles insisted, rolling his eyes.

Derek's laughter subsided. Stiles liked seeing him smile; it didn't happen too often, but when it did, Stiles thought it was a shame they were so rare.

"And have you thought of any names?" Derek asked.

Stiles frowned. "Just one," he said.

Derek nodded, as if he should have known.

"I don't really know why I decided to keep them," Stiles said quietly, before Derek could ask. "I'm kinda worried it's just the stupid hormones making me crazy enough to... I don't know. Feel attached? How can I feel attached to something that doesn't even exist yet?"

"It does exist," Derek said. "They exist. What's happening to you is real, and maybe it is the hormones, but... Stiles, if you change your mind, if you decide not to keep them. That's okay."

Stiles scoffed. "Yeah, give up two werewolf babies for adoption, sure. We've seen how well that works out."

"I'm not talking about strangers," Derek said. "I'm talking about me."

Stiles met Derek's eyes, surprised at the offer. "You're serious?"

"You're eighteen, Stiles," Derek said. "You still have college ahead of you. And me?" Derek shrugged. "I'm pretty settled now. I'm a lot more mellow than I used to be. And I'd care for them as my own. Even if they technically weren't."

Stiles all but lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Derek's neck. Derek caught him, returning the hug, and for a moment they sat there in each other's arms, Stiles valiantly attempting to avoid shedding tears on Derek's shirt. He mostly succeeded.

"I don't know what to say," Stiles said, muffled against Derek's shoulder.

"You don't have to decide anything until you're ready to," Derek said as they parted.

After, as Stiles tried to sleep again, Derek stood to return to the couch. But Stiles had called him back, into the bed, and Derek had held him as they both slept through the remainder of the night.

He ducked his head out to see Derek still sound asleep, then returned to his retreat. Stiles wasn't sure how long he'd been in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror as he went over the whole conversation again in his mind. He could easily guess why Derek would make such an offer to him; he'd grown up in a big family, a big _pack_ , and every time he tried to get that back, it was taken from him. Even if the children Stiles carried weren't _his_ , Derek would still see them as pack and as family. And that's exactly what they would be, Stiles decided then. Regardless of parentage, Derek would be in their lives, same as Scott.

Absently, he lifted his t-shirt and ran a hand over his belly, surprised to find a tiny swell under his palm. Taking a side view, he could see, just barely, that he was finally starting to show. Without thinking, he snapped a picture of himself, suppressing a grin, and sent it off to Scott with the message, _Just in case we haven't been hit with the reality of this happening yet._

He didn't have to wait long for Scott's reply. His phone vibrated in his hand and a short message popped up: _Oh my god_.

The phone buzzed again, only this time, Scott was calling him. Stiles answered, trying to keep his voice down so as not to wake Derek. "Scott? You okay?"

_"Don't freak out okay?"_

"It sounds like you're the one who's freaking, dude."

The line went quiet, and for a second, Stiles thought one of their phones had died or something. Then Scott said, carefully, calmly, _"I told my mom."_

Stiles sat on the edge of the tub. "What."

 _"I had to!"_ Scott burst. _"I mean, she kinda figured it out on her own anyway. She thought I'd gotten Kira pregnant or something. A girl. Definitely not you."_

"Wow. What'd she say when you told her it was me?"

_"Said she should've gone with her gut."_

"What does that mean?"

_"Her first thought was you, because I asked about the adderall. Which of course she dismissed because you're a guy."_

"Reasonable."

 _"But otherwise, she took it in stride, dude,"_ Scott added. _"It was a... very interesting conversation. Oh, and she wants to talk to you."_

"I'm sure she does." He actually thought that would be a good idea. Of all the people who now knew about this, only one of them was qualified to speak not only as a professional of any sort, but also from experience.

_"I keep meaning to ask. Did everything go alright with Derek?"_

"Actually, I'm still here."

_"You spent the night?"_

"Yessssss..." Stiles dragged out the word, waiting for Scott to get to his point.

 _"Whoa,"_ he finally said. _"I hope he didn't make you sleep on the couch."_

"Actually."

_"Stiles, you need back support."_

"Okay, mom." Stiles wiped his brow; time to get out with it. "No, we both slept in his bed."

_"Slept? Like, only slept?"_

"You're very nosy today."

_"Sorry."_

Stiles sighed. "Nah, it's cool. And yes, we only slept. He spooned me though. It was weird. Nice. But weird. I think he's kind of into me? I don't know if it's a new development because of, well, the new development, or if he's always had a thing. I mean, he did offer to basically raise them for me while I went to college."

_"If he gets to hear the heartbeat before I do, I will never forgive you."_

"Yes, you will."

_"Yeah. Probably."_

"Wanna hang out today?" Stiles finally asked. "After your mom gives me a lecture, of course."

He could hear the smile in Scott's voice when he replied, _"Yeah, that'd be good."_


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Sheriff learns the truth, and there is an argument about Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up by Friday, then another one on the weekend. Enjoy!

"You gonna stay out here all night?"

"Dad! What?" Stiles jumped, flinging the book Melissa had given him behind him into the backseat floorboard.

"You've been out here over an hour."

"Right. Yeah. Sorry." Stiles promptly got out of the Jeep, leaving the book behind as he marched up the porch steps. As much as he wanted to continue reading it, there was no way he was fishing it out of the Jeep with his dad there watching him. Of course, he'd have to tell him the truth eventually, but he just wasn't ready for that yet. Especially after telling so many people already. He was tired. Part of him just wanted everyone to know and be done with it.

"You don't want to get your book?"

"Nope, just get it tomorrow."

"Stiles."

He felt his dad's eyes on him as he stopped, unable to keep still as he fidgeted nervously.

"I already saw the title of the book."

Okay, _now_ he was still. _Fuck._

"Do we need to have a conversation?"

Stiles swallowed hard, but he couldn't make himself turn around and face his father. "Yeah, dad. I guess we should."

Inside, Stiles took a seat across from his dad in the living room, hands folded in front of himself, eyes down; he felt like he was about to be interrogated.

"So. Is it Malia? I hadn't realized you two got back together."

Stiles slumped a little in his seat. "We didn't," he said. "It's not Malia, dad, it's..."

"Someone I don't know?"

Stiles scoffed. "No, it's someone you know very well, actually." He met his father's eyes. "Sitting right here in this room."

The Sheriff couldn't help taking a look around the room, but they were the only two people there.

"This is some kind of prank, isn't it?"

Stiles removed the now-crumpled sonogram photo from his pocket and unfolded it, trying to get the few wrinkles out of it before handing it over.

"My pranks are not this elaborate, dad."

The Sheriff stared down at the image, and Stiles watched his dad's reaction morph from disbelief to confusion to one hundred percent done. He set the picture on the coffee table between them, eyes never wavering from it, and opened his mouth to speak, but only let out a huff of air before shutting his mouth again.

"Are you mad at me?" Stiles blurted out.

His dad finally looked up at him. "No. Of course not. You didn't know this would happen." Then he sat up straighter, eyebrow raised. "Did you?"

"Of course not!" Stiles insisted.

The Sheriff held his hands up. "Okay. I believe you."

Stiles sighed, sitting back in the comfy arm chair, hugging a throw pillow in front of him.

"Who else knows about this?"

"Scott. Deaton. Derek," Stiles listed. "Melissa sort of figured it out on her own. She's the one who gave me the book. And, uh, Chris knows."

"Argent? You told him?"

"Actually, I told him first," Stiles said, the room feeling suddenly too small for him. He never thought how this part of it would look, telling all these other people before his own dad. "I didn't know who else to talk to! I was freaking out, Scott was working that day so I couldn't go to Deaton right away, and there was no way I was going to a regular doctor, that would just--"

"Okay, okay, Stiles," his dad walked around the coffee table and sat, taking hold of Stiles by both arms. "It's gonna be okay. All right?"

Stiles relaxed a little, nodding. "I told Peter, too."

"I wondered."

"It's not his," Stiles assured him. "And... it's better I don't tell you how I know that. Just... trust me."

The Sheriff sighed. "Fine. It isn't Peter's. That's a relief, huh?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, but there was no enthusiasm behind it. "A relief."

"All right, you've got school tomorrow," the Sheriff said. "Are you... You're gonna be fine to go? I mean, do you want to stay home?"

"No, I should go," Stiles said. "While I still can, you know?"

"So you're..."

The Sheriff sort of waved a hand to prompt Stiles, but he wasn't sure what his dad wanted him to reveal.

"Am I what?"

"Keeping it? I mean. That's what you've decided?"

Stiles dipped his head, hiding behind the throw pillow.

"I'm not trying to rush you into making up your mind," he heard his dad say. "That's, uh, just... take your time. Make sure it's the right choice."

Stiles lifted his head up. "I am," he said with a faint nod. "And I know that... I don't want to put that on you. Derek has already offered to help with them, and I'll figure out school... I just, I don't want you to think I'm... throwing away my life or something."

"First off, I wouldn't think that," the Sheriff said. "Second-- _them_?"

"Yeah, it's twins," Stiles admitted. Then with a tight smile he added, "Happy birthday?"

The tension in the room eased a little as his dad smiled, huffing a small laugh. "Perfect," he said. "I'm gonna be a grandpa."

\----------

The next morning at school, Stiles caught up with Scott on the way in from the parking lot. Although they'd hung out for most of the day before, Scott looked relieved to see him.

"Everything okay?" Stiles asked, waiting for Scott to secure his bike before going inside.

"Yeah, it's fine," Scott said. "I don't know. It's stupid."

"Okay, now you have to tell me."

"There's nothing to tell," Scott insisted. "I'm just being paranoid."

"About what?"

Scott huffed a sigh as they headed in, hitting his locker first. "What'd you and my mom talk about?"

"Baby stuff," Stiles said. "She gave me a book."

"Oh."

"Oh? Scotty, what'd you think we were talking about? The stock market?"

Scott shook his head. "I don't know. I thought she was mad at me for all this."

"Why would she be mad at you? It's not like you knew this could happen."

"Yeah, I know. It's just... It's weird that she knows."

"Tell me about it," Stiles agreed. "Although she is the only one who knows that's ever been through it herself. So. If she wants to talk, I'm all ears."

"When do you think you're gonna tell your dad?"

"He may already know," Stiles said, leaning against the lockers and watching Scott's reaction.

"How?"

"Well, because I told him," Stiles said slowly. "He saw the book; there was no way around it. Of course, he thought _I'd_ knocked someone else up."

"How'd he take it when you told him?"

"Oh, you know, the Stilinski way: panic, denial, acceptance. More panic. He's putting up a front though."

"You think he's pretending to be okay with it?"

"No, just covering the fact that he's freaking out," Stiles said.

Scott finished switching out his books and they headed for Stiles' locker next.

"He's glad they're not Peter's."

"Yeah, me, too," Scott said. "I can't tell you what a relief it was when you said it wasn't possible. I know you had to be relieved."

Stiles paused just a few feet from his locker. When he realized he'd stopped at the wrong one, Scott's eyebrows shot up.

"You are relieved, aren't you?"

Stiles shrugged. He found the right locker and swirled the combination lock around to unlock it.

Scott scoffed. "Seriously? You'd want it to be Peter's?"

"I don't know that I'd _want_ it to be, it's just... Look, you didn't see his face when I showed him the sonogram. It was... I mean, the guy legitimately looked like he was gonna start crying. Up until the point he realized they couldn't be his."

"So you feel sorry for him?"

"He doesn't really have anyone," Stiles mumbled.

"And whose fault is that?"

"I don't know, maybe Kate Argent's?" Stiles snapped.

"Does this have anything to do with why you've been so weird about him?"

Stiles didn't meet Scott's eyes. He knew exactly what Scott was talking about, but he wasn't ready to face its implications yet. "What do you mean weird?"

"Ever since he was released from Eichen House," Scott clarified. "Actually, even before that, when we found out he hired that lawyer. You didn't say word one about it."

"What did you expect me to say?"

"I don't know! Anything? Stiles, he tried to kill me."

Stiles shot him a guilty look, saying nothing when he returned to opening his locker.

"Wait. You believe him? The crap his lawyer said?"

Annoyed at the accusations Scott was implying, Stiles finally halted his movements. "It's not him, or his lawyer, I believe, Scott. It's me."

Scott gave a little confused shake of his head.

"On the way back from Mexico, I just... I couldn't stop thinking about how everything played out: the Benefactor, Peter, Kate, the Berserkers. And the thing is, I knew it was Peter."

Scott put a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "I know you did."

"But I was wrong. He wasn't the one," Stiles continued. "I mean, yeah, Peter had the idea, but he wasn't the Benefactor. And Meredith? Totally left field." Stiles finished stuffing books into his bag and shut his locker, sighing. "I thought, if she was a surprise, what else did I miss?"

"Just because you were wrong about her doesn't mean you were wrong about Peter, too," Scott told him, following alongside Stiles as they headed for class.

"Except that I was, Scott," Stiles said firmly. "He'd failed to kill Kate. That part, his lawyer left out of his defense. As far as avenging his family's murders, he ultimately failed. Even worse, he turned her! All that bite-is-a-gift stuff, and he'd given that to his worst enemy. But if he could goad you into killing _him_ , he'd be making amends for that failure while at the same time ensuring you _wouldn't_ fail. Because she was after you, and with Peter's blood on your hands, it would've been all the easier to justify killing her, too."

Scott scrambled to argue against what Stiles was saying. "But he was working _with_ Kate. Why wouldn't he just kill her himself? He had plenty of opportunity."

"Really? With two Berserkers for bodyguards?"

Scott sighed. "Let's say, not that I agree with you, just... Let's say it makes sense. He's still dangerous, Stiles. And I, for one, am glad he'll be leaving town."

Stiles stopped walking. "You know about that?"

Scott heaved a put-upon sigh, coming to a halt. "Derek told me," Scott said, facing Stiles. "How did you know?"

"He had a bunch of maps and travel books out when I went to talk to him," Stiles said.

"Look, I gotta get to class," Scott said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then he gave Stiles a nod. "See you in history?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, watching Scott's back as he walked away. "See you."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deaton heads to India to visit an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally heeeeeeere!!! Sorry this one took me so long; there's been an abundance of suck in my life recently and I've been busy attempting to dispel it. I also don't have internet at home right now, so it may be a week between chapters at this point--hopefully not, but it's probs better to err on the side of smaller expectations.
> 
> Stiles and Co. will return next chapter, I promise. *smishes the loyal readers up*

Scott held the greyhound still, one hand on its hindquarters, and the other smoothing over the dog's head and neck, siphoning some of its pain away while Deaton readied the sedative. Someone had found the dog in an alley, wandering, lost and injured, with no collar and, upon Deaton's examination, no chip either. The wound on the animal's back looked infected, the glass that had caused it still embedded in the flesh.

The dog let out a low whine, fidgeting when Deaton approached with the needle, almost like it knew what was coming.

"What's gonna happen to it once you've fixed it up?" Scott said from behind his paper mask. 

"Hard to say," Deaton replied, injecting the sedative into the dog. The greyhound calmed, falling into sleep. The beeping of the heart monitor slowed with the rhythm of the dog's heartbeat. "We should try to find it a good foster home, maybe put up signs in case the owner is looking for it."

"What if no one claims him?"

A smile reached Deaton's eyes. "You could always take him, if you like."

"I don't think my mom would care much for that idea," Scott said. "Besides, I've got enough responsibilities on the horizon as it is."

Deaton chuckled beneath his own mask, cleaning the dog's wound as Scott headed for the sink.

Scott scrubbed his hands clean before pulling on the gloves laid aside for him. His mind raced with all they'd discussed before the dog came in, fixating on the fact that Deaton would soon be out of town for a number of days, flying to India to visit an old acquaintance that may be able to shed light on some of the recent events in Beacon Hills. He hadn't had the chance yet to mention what Derek told him, that Braeden was back in town, still on the trail of the Desert Wolf, although Scott suspected that Deaton, as former emissary to the Hale pack, already knew about it.

It wasn't until Deaton was suturing the greyhound's wound that Scott spoke again.

"I still haven't heard the heartbeats yet," he said quietly. "Shouldn't I have heard them by now?"

Deaton glanced up at him, humming in thought. "Scott, I'm not a werewolf. As much as I know about them, the intricacies of werewolf hearing are lost to me. I couldn't begin to tell you what's normal. At best, I could only guess."

"But we could hear it with the ultrasound," Scott said. "I feel like I should have been able to hear them then. What if something's wrong?"

Deaton raised an eyebrow. "Wrong with them or wrong with you?"

Scott scoffed at the question. "Either, I guess."

Deaton finished with the dog before responding, stripping his gloves off as Scott dressed the wound.

"Humans can't hear in the ultrasound range, but there's evidence that dogs can--although nothing to indicate that they can hear a fetal heartbeat," Deaton said. "It may not even be possible for you to hear it."

"But?"

"Well, I'm sure you've noticed that, even though your human hearing is enhanced by your supernatural abilities, that it's enhanced even further during a shift."

"So you're saying... I'd have to shift to be able to hear it?"

Deaton shrugged. "It's possible. I'd say, why not give it a shot?"

"Yeah, okay," Scott nodded. "I'll do that."

"But don't be too disappointed if it doesn't work," Deaton added.

Scott helped Deaton clean up, fixing a cone around the greyhound's head and readying a large cage for him. He stayed with the dog until it woke, petting him gently back into consciousness as the sedative wore off.

\----------

The airport in Bhopal was small and utilitarian, with very little going on besides the business of travel. Alan had taken a connecting flight from New Delhi, and now he wished he'd taken advantage of one of the restaurants there before he'd boarded for his last flight out. Now his stomach was growling and he was starting to get a headache from the hunger and the jet-lag.

"Doctor Deaton?"

Alan swiveled to see the man addressing him, standing about a head shorter and holding a wipe-off white board at his side, "Deaton" scrawled on it in big capital letters.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Chandresakhar sent me to collect you," the man informed him. He glanced at his phone, comparing a picture to Alan's face, and then, satisfied, he gestured, "This way, please."

Alan nodded, surprised that Michael had sent someone to drive him. Last time he'd visited, Alan had acquired a taxi--although to be fair, that visit had been a surprise to his old friend.

The drive to Michael's house was pleasant despite the traffic; Alan took in the sights. Everything was different, and yet nothing has changed. The air was humid but not heavy, and as the traffic thinned, Alan realized they were heading out of the city, into the countryside.

Alan always felt that Michael's house was larger than any one person could ever need, and he was reminded of that when the car crested the small hilly driveway, the house coming into clear view.

The driveway led straight to the front door, circling around a fountain with an elephant statue at its center, water arcing from its upturned trunk.

Alan stepped out of the car, opening his door before the driver reached it, immediately wondering whether he'd just committed some faux pas by doing so. The driver said nothing though, and he didn't appear offended, so either it wasn't a big deal or Michael had warned the man that he'd be picking up an _American_ and not to take his cultural slights to heart. Which sounded exactly like something Michael would say.

Before he reached the door, he saw it open, and Michael stepped out, wearing an open silk bathrobe, swim trunks, and flip-flops, his eyes obscured by Ray-Bans but his smile as radiant as the sun. His copper skin glistened with the water droplets that still clung to him.

"Alan Deaton!" Michael exclaimed. "What the fuck, man!"

Michael's American accent was unmistakable; he'd been born in America, raised by parents who'd immigrated before his birth. At the time, there'd been far more to hunt in the States than anywhere else, so it'd made sense for the young hunters to find new territory to protect. Michael had always hated the job, though; the fighting, the protecting--those were things he could handle, things he was good at--but over time, he stopped believing he was unequivocally the good guy. Part of that had to do with his run-in with an omega werewolf who asked him for protection from other hunters, but most of it had to do with meeting Alan and the Hale pack. So he'd exiled himself to India, to the city of his mother's birth, and started an organization to clean up pollution in the area. He found it far more rewarding than hunting things that might not need hunting in the first place. The nuances of good versus evil, in supernatural terms, were things he left behind when he came here.

At least, that's what he'd told Alan. His large collection of hunters' weapons said otherwise.

Alan felt himself unable to stop his own smile as Michael jogged to meet him, the man all but lunging at him, taking him up in a bear hug. "It has been too long, man. Fuck!"

With a calmer enthusiasm than Michael exuded, Alan returned the hug. "It's good to see you, too, Michael."

"Look at you, man," Michael replied, setting Alan back to his feet. They parted, Michael's hands on Alan's waist moving up to his neck, cupping his face. "You're looking good."

"As are you," Alan replied. Alan noticed the criss-cross of scars on Michael's abdomen, claw marks from two separate attacks, one set older, more faded, the other too recent for Alan's liking.

"But seriously, man: airfare is expensive," Michael said, redirecting Alan's attention upward with a fingertip under his chin. "Why didn't you just pick up the phone?"

"Well, there _was_ something here I wanted to see for myself," Alan said, his tone coy, his voice pitched low.

"You sly fox," Michael cooed at him, and then he was kissing Alan, or Alan was kissing him--it didn't really matter who started it, as they were both intent on finishing it.

\----------

Alan couldn't stop looking at the scars. He'd seen scars on the man before; in fact, he was reminded over the course of their first few hours reunited that the man was a walking constellation of old wounds. Still, the newest one drew his eyes, and he traced the lines with his fingers.

"You have a naked man at your disposal and this is what you do with him?" Michael asked, arms tucked under his head, letting Alan do what he wanted despite the question.

"This is new," Alan said.

"Perceptive," Michael said.

"Tell me what happened."

Michael changed position on the bed, propping his head on his hand, meeting Alan's eyes. "There was an alpha in the area," Michael said, his voice low and calm. "I tracked him--old habits, you know? Figured I'd extend an olive branch or some shit. But he wasn't a peaceful guy."

"He?"

"I wasn't the only one doing the tracking," Michael said. He sat up, back to Alan, and continued. "He came here one night, about a year ago. Demanded a piece of the lotus snare."

The words gave Alan pause. His gaze fell from Michael's back for a moment as he put the pieces of it all together in his mind.

"I don't know what he wanted with it," Michael said. "But I fought him off for a while. Held my own, despite getting a bit soft." Michael chuckled softly, adding, in an attempt at levity, "Non-profit work doesn't exactly keep you in pristine fighting form."

Alan sat up and scooted down the bed until his side was flush with Michael's, and he put a hand on the man's shoulder.

"Anyway," Michael shook his head. "He bested me, took the snare, and left." Looking down at the scars from the claw marks, Michael noted, "I'm lucky he didn't turn me."

"Do you think he would have?"

Michael shrugged. "Not on purpose, maybe. Claws go deep enough, though..."

Alan stood from the bed, stepping over to the window and looking out. Two stories below, he could see the fountain in the garden where the lotus snare had once been kept. The stone and concrete enclosure of the fountain had kept its roots from growing out too far, from taking over the grounds or entering the ecosystem beyond the house. But in just one year, from the time the alpha took the snare from Michael's house, it'd grown in the river in the Preserve and nearly killed most of the pack Alan had taken up protecting.

"So when are you going to tell me why you're really here?" Michael asked, his words slow and calculated.

"A lotus snare was found in Beacon Hills recently," Alan replied. He turned back to Michael. "I believe it was grown from the cutting the alpha made to your plant."

"What would this guy want with Beacon Hills?" Michael asked. "Not to mention, he's a werewolf, too; he's not immune to the damn thing."

"No, he isn't," Alan said. "But he must've taken some precautions with it. He knew it was here, that means he knew what it was, what power it held over him."

"I suppose you got rid of the thing when you found it?"

"I did," Alan said. "Not before there were some consequences to its presence, however."

"Ah, shit, man." Michael sighed, scrubbing his face with both hands. "Who was it?"

"No one died, if that's what you're thinking," Alan said. "Actually, it was Chris Argent who figured out how we might free the werewolves caught in its roots."

"Argent's still in Beacon Hills?"

"Yes, he's actually become something of an ally in recent years."

"That's a shocker," Michael said. "Especially with Victoria whispering in his ear."

"Victoria died," Alan told him. "By her own hand. She was accidentally bitten, and she decided to take her own life rather than live as a werewolf."

Michael stared open-mouthed at Alan for a moment.

"As per Argent code," Alan added.

"That's hardcore, man," Michael finally said. "And stupid, too."

Alan shrugged.

"You mentioned consequences," Michael said. "If no one died, what were they?"

"One of the humans in the pack took Chris up on his suggestion that... copulation might free the werewolves from the snare. Now he's with child."

"The.. wait a minute. The human is a guy, and the guy is now pregnant? By a werewolf?"

"By a werewolf who was fully shifted at the time," Alan said.

Michael let out a low whistle. "Man, am I glad I don't have your job."

Alan laughed. "Sometimes I wish _I_ didn't have my job."

\----------

Alan requested Michael's notes on the alpha from his time tracking it the year before, and while he reviewed the abundant scribblings, Michael dug out the security video from the night he was attacked. They spent the day in the study, researching while trying to work out the alpha's motive for stealing the lotus snare and planting it in Beacon Hills. Were it any other time, Michael would be pulling down his weapons one by one and regaling Alan with the history of each blade, of every firearm, but there wasn't time for that now.

"Maybe it's not the same one," Michael suggested. "Maybe it was growing there awhile and no one noticed it?"

"That's unlikely," Alan said. "The Hale pack lived by that river for decades; we would've noticed it before."

"Or, maybe a hunter planted it? Maybe... maybe the alpha was hired by someone to steal it? Maybe he wanted to eradicate lotus snare from the planet? I don't know."

"You getting attacked, the lotus snare stolen, and then the snare showing up in Beacon Hills a year later?" Alan posited. "The short time between these events leads me to believe it's all connected. That it's not a coincidence."

It started getting dark outside, and both men were beyond tired. Michael was frustrated that he had no answers to offer Alan, and the vet continued to push himself to find something in Michael's notes even as Michael brought them to a stopping point, failing in his attempt to drag Alan out of the study.

"I'm missing something," Alan said, letting his eyes fall shut when Michael wrapped his arms around his shoulders from behind.

"And you'll find it in the morning," Michael whispered into his ear.

Alan finally nodded, shutting off the security video and following Michael to the bedroom.

Michael pushed him back onto the bed and began to unbutton his shirt, Alan smiling up at him as he lay there, pliant under his hands.

The sound of breaking glass interrupted them, and they were both alert, Michael ducking under the bed to grab a shotgun. "Stay here," he said, softly as possible, and headed downstairs, shutting the bedroom door behind him.

Alan scanned the room for a weapon he could use. He pulled open drawers and looked under the bed, but he found nothing else there. He'd have to use something from the study.

At the sound of shotgun fire, Alan threw open the bedroom door and scanned the hallway before stepping out. Keeping himself close to the wall, he peered over the staircase railing, vigilant in his hunt. From the back of the house he heard the sounds of combat, the deafening roar of a werewolf, and then Michael came into view as he was thrown into the front door, his back hitting the wood before he dropped, motionless, to the floor.

Alan wiped the shock from face, tiptoeing down the stairs. The werewolf hadn't come into his view yet, but he could still hear the creature breathing heavily. Then the breathing changed, and the shadow of a man fell across the floor as the werewolf shifted back to human form. Alan could barely see him now; he stalked towards Michael, then paused, sniffing the air. He turned to see Alan halfway down the stairs and bolted towards him.

Claws scratched through Alan's shirt as the werewolf tried to catch him, but Alan bypassed him, just barely, hurtling toward the study. Once inside, he slammed the doors shut and scanned the walls for a suitable weapon. He grabbed an assault rifle and checked the clip--empty. Fuming, Alan threw the gun aside. Retired or not, what the hell kind of hunter kept unloaded weapons in his house?

The werewolf pounded against the door, tearing through the wood. Alan didn't bother checking the other firearms; instead he grabbed a silver sword from the mantle over the fireplace.

Facing the door head-on, sword held before him, Alan took a defensive stance and waited.

The werewolf howled, then let loose a final attack on the door, and through it he came, the light brown fur around his face catching the moonlight through the far window.

Alan hit flesh with his first attempt, a deep cut to his side, and the werewolf staggered back, growling as the wound failed to close. A faint blue glow danced around the edge of the wound.

"Wolfsbane," Alan said, taking a keener look at the sword. It must have been dipped in the stuff at some point.

The werewolf let out another roar, and retreated. Alan made to go after him, but as soon as he reached the back door, he stopped. His feet were bare, and the floor was littered with broken glass. He watched as the wolf, in human form, disappeared into the wild behind Michael's house.

Then he ran back to the front of the house, kneeling beside Michael and checking him for a pulse.

"Michael?"

The hunter stirred, eyes fluttering. "Did we get him?" he asked, the words slurred.

Alan sighed in relief. "I wounded him," he offered. "But he got away."

"God damn it," Michael mumbled, reaching for Alan to help him stand. Once on his feet, he leaned against the vet, and he surveyed the mess that was his house. "God damn."

"Come on," Alan said. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"First aid kit's upstairs," Michael pointed up. "So's my bed."

"No sleeping just yet," Alan said as they ascended the steps. "You could have a concussion."

"There are other things to do in bed besides sleep." Michael tried for an eyebrow waggle, but he winced, a cut on his forehead letting loose a gush of blood into his eye.

"And who can resist a wounded man?"

"I have blood in my eyes, Alan," Michael said. "Less joking, more getting me to the bathroom sink."

"That werewolf," Alan said. "That was the one who attacked you before?"

"Yeah," Michael huffed. They made it to the bathroom and he leaned back against the counter, grabbing with bloody hands for the towel on the wall. He made a messy attempt at wiping the blood away from his eyes.

Alan prepared a wet cloth and finished the job.

"There was something different about this one," Alan said. "Couldn't quite put my finger on it, though. After he took you out, he shifted to a full-form wolf, then back to human."

"Hmm, really? That's fascinating," Michael said, his voice lacking any level of enthusiasm for the discussion at hand.

"When he came through the doors into the study, he only half-shifted. If he'd shifted completely, he might've beat me."

"Please tell me what you're getting at," Michael pleaded. "My brain cells are a little ass-kicked at the moment."

"For some reason, he didn't want us to see him fully shifted," Alan said. "He's hiding something."

"What I don't get is why he came back," Michael said. He held still as Alan sewed up the cut on his forehead. "He took all the lotus snare before. Did he think I could just grow some more or something? Or that I _would_?"

Alan paused, realization dawning on him. "He didn't come here for more of the plant," he said.

Michael opened his eyes, waiting.

Alan frowned. "He came because I did," he said. "He was here to stop me from finding something."

"Then you better finish fixing me up," Michael said. "Cause we've got work to do."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tells the Pack the good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some new tags this chapter, and I deleted a couple that are no longer relevant.

Stiles sat in Derek's loft, alone, waiting for the rest of the Pack to show. He'd decided it was time they knew, mostly because he just wanted to be done delivering the news, but also because he was getting close to the four month mark and it was getting harder to hide his growing stomach, especially with carrying twins. Derek had been cool enough to lend them his space, but then he'd taken off in order to avoid the awkward. Scott stood outside the door, awaiting everyone's arrival, like a guarding sentry, leaving Stiles fidgeting on the couch trying to figure out exactly what he wanted to say.

He stared down at the picture in his hand, frowning at its creases and its curled edges. First thing he was doing when Deaton came back from his trip was asking for another sonogram so he could get a new picture to replace the one he'd been keeping in his pocket twenty-four seven.

The loft door opened, grinding a little in its track. Lydia and Malia walked in, Scott giving Stiles a brief smile as he pulled the door shut again.

"So apparently we're not allowed to ask you questions until the rest of the pack arrives," Lydia said, glaring slightly at Stiles. "Something about... not stressing you out too much?"

Stiles laughed nervously. "Ah, Scott, he's just being overprotective. You know how he is."

"Please just tell us you're not dying," Malia blurted out.

"Malia, I am not dying."

"Thank god," she huffed, flopping into a nearby chair.

"I'm touched," Stiles said. "I didn't know you cared."

"Of course I care, dummy," she said, and picked up a throw pillow, ready to put it to good use until the door opened and Scott saw it.

"Malia!"

She rolled her eyes. "It's a pillow, Scott."

"Just... don't. Okay?"

"Fine, I will not throw soft plushy objects at the human," Malia sighed, replacing the pillow behind her.

"Thank you," Scott said, moving to allow Isaac and Allison entrance to the loft.

Isaac sipped on a smoothie as they took seats on the couch, Allison holding Isaac's other hand. They were so moony-eyed at each other that, thankfully, neither of them attempted to not-question Stiles.

Kira arrived a few minutes after, Scott following behind her into the central space, and, with everyone accounted for, Stiles had no more stalling to do.

"Okay," Scott started them off, clearing his throat.

Briefly, Stiles wondered if Scott was about to tell them himself. Not that he'd mind at all. In fact, he was kinda hoping...

"Before Stiles says what you all came here to hear, I want to thank you for coming," Scott continued. "The news we have is... well, it's kind of a big deal. So."

Stiles stood and took his place beside Scott. "So how bout a game? Who wants to guess why we're here?"

Scott frowned at him, and Stiles scanned the room of blank stares directed at him.

"Okay, I'll take that as a no," Stiles said, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Uh, well. The reason you're here... I will tell you what that is. Just... give me another minute."

"Just tell us," Isaac said. "It can't be that bad."

"Show 'em the picture?" Scott suggested.

"The picture is a dilapidated mess," Stiles mumbled in objection, but all the same he pulled out the sonogram image and unfolded it, again, and placed it on the coffee table. Lydia picked it up.

"This is a sonogram," she said, confused. "Someone's pregnant?"

"You got someone pregnant?" Malia said, leaning forward and looking ready to pounce.

"Hey, I didn't do the knocking up." Stiles gestured to Scott. "He did."

"Oh," Malia said. Then she gave Scott a nod. "Awesome."

Scott sighed. "We don't actually know that yet."

Stiles stared blankly at his best friend. "That's your contribution to this discussion? Really?"

"Don't know what yet?" Allison asked. "Guys, what the hell is going on?"

Stiles propped both hands on his hips. "That picture, the sonogram, it's..." He cleared his throat, scratched the back of his head, and then took a deep breath and told them. "Well, it's mine. It's me. I'm the one... the one who's been... _knocked up_."

The room fell silent. Everyone was still, staring at either Stiles or the image, trying to piece together how such a thing could be possible.

Isaac was the first to break the silence. "Can I just say," he said, turning to Allison, "that I am very glad you were the one who rescued me?"

Allison gently elbowed him.

"What? I'm serious."

"Hold on," Malia said. "Is that why your scent changed?"

Stiles looked to Scott for confirmation. "It did?"

Isaac stood up and got uncomfortably close to Stiles' throat, inhaling deeply. "Malia's right," he told them. "Why I didn't notice that before?"

"Okay, maybe not with the sniffing," Stiles said, pushing Isaac a step back.

"I didn't notice either," Scott replied. "We have a lot of classes together, and lacrosse, so maybe that's why? Like it was a gradual change, so we didn't catch it?"

"Sounds right," Malia agreed. "I only see him in pack meetings now."

"Now that I've noticed it," Isaac said to her, "I kinda wanna smell him again."

When Malia's eyes lit up, Kira stifled a giggle. "Right? Like I just want to bury my nose in his armpit."

Stiles crossed his arms, tucking his hands under them. Isaac and Malia were both staring at him.

"It's intoxicating," Isaac agreed.

Stiles' mouth had fallen open at their conversation, and his wasn't the only one. Allison and Lydia watched them both like a ping-pong game, back and forth, Lydia's eyebrows rising higher each time.

"This is because of that _thing_ in the river?" Lydia asked.

"Yep, pretty much," Stiles said.

"Okay, but how is this even possible?" Allison asked.

"We don't know."

"Maybe you should show them...?" Scott said.

With a resigned sigh, Stiles lifted both his shirts half-way and turned to give everyone a good side-view of his bump.

"Oh, my god," Kira whispered. On instinct she reached out and touched Stiles' skin, pulling back when she realized what she was doing. "Sorry. Can I?"

"Knock yourself out," Stiles said.

Kira's palm curved over the small bump, a tiny gasp escaping her half-open mouth. "That feels so weird."

"Oh, it gets better," Stiles said. "There's two in there."

"Twins?" Lydia's nose wrinkled up, her arms folded over her chest. "I am not old enough to be an aunt yet. Especially twice over."

Isaac raised a hand. "Just a thought... Are they gonna be human?"

"We don't know that either," Scott said. "Deaton's pretty sure they're gonna be like us though."

"Excuse me." Allison pushed off the couch, releasing Isaac's hand. She grabbed Stiles' hand and dragged him toward the bathroom. "Promise I'll return him unharmed," she said to Scott.

"Uhhh..." Stiles waved at the group as they disappeared into the only room with any privacy in the loft. He leaned against the sink as Allison shut the door behind them. "What's going on?"

"Stiles," Allison started, clapping her hands in front of her. When she spoke again, her voice was low, an attempt at keeping their werewolf friends from hearing through the door. "Did you really have sex with Scott, and Derek, and _Peter_?"

"You know I did, Allison. How the hell else did I get them all free?"

With a gulp, Allison confessed, "I only jerked Isaac off."

"What? Are you kidding me? And that worked?"

She nodded. "I mean, of course I would've... with Isaac, I just, he was running out of time so I, I wasn't even thinking," she said. "It's a lot faster to get him off like that."

"Ew," Stiles winced. "I didn't need to know that."

"Sorry."

"So what you're saying is, essentially, that I could have..." Stiles made an obscene gesture with one hand, feeling an unease come over him--not quite a panic but maybe panic's second cousin.

"Can I ask you something, Stiles?"

"Yeah, what?"

"Is Deaton making you keep them?"

"What?" Stiles shook his head. "No, of course not. Why would he make me keep them?"

"I don't know!" Allison exclaimed in an excited whisper. "We still don't know why the snare was in the river, or who put it there."

"You think Deaton had something to do with that?"

"He's the one who knew about it," Allison explained.

"Yeah, and so did your dad," Stiles reminded her. "Your dad, who, by the way, is the one who suggested we... _do the do_ in the first place."

Allison took a step back. "He said that was Deaton's idea."

Stiles sighed. "Look, I don't think Chris put that thing there either," he said. "I don't know who did it. Supposedly, Deaton's trying to figure that out. But it was my choice, one hundred percent."

"Why would he lie to me about that?"

"Yeah, calling your daughter to tell her she has to have sex with someone or they're gonna die?" On a reflex, Stiles put his hand over his belly. "I couldn't have done it."

Allison watched Stiles' hand smooth over his shirt, not taking his eyes off the bump.

"Are you nervous at all?" Allison asked.

He scoffed. "Have you met me?"

"Right," she smiled. "Dumb question."

"We should probably get back out there," Stiles said, "before they start thinking we're up to something."

Allison turned to open the door, but as Stiles pushed off the sink, he swayed on his feet, grabbing onto the back of Allison's shirt as he went down.

"Stiles!" Allison barely caught him before his head hit the floor, cradling his neck as she set him gently down.

The bathroom door flew open then, Scott having heard the commotion. "What happened?" He stepped around them to crouch on Stiles' other side, touching skin and attempting to siphon away any pain he might be in.

"I don't know! He was fine, and then he just--"

"Stiles? Can you hear me?"

"Mm," Stiles mumbled.

"Stiles?" Worry slipped through Scott's voice, more than he usually let on to having for his best friend.

"I didn't... I hardly moved," Stiles said, opening his eyes. "Thought the dizziness was supposed to be gone by now."

"Here," Malia said, standing in the doorway. She held out the throw pillow to Scott, who took it and bunched it under Stiles' head.

"Okay, that's just overkill," Stiles said.

"Shush," Scott said. "Just take it easy, all right?"

"I _was_ taking it easy," Stiles objected.

"Well--" Scott faltered. "Take it _more_ easy."

Allison rolled her eyes at him. "He wasn't doing anything, Scott. It just happened."

"What the hell is going on?" Derek called over them, pushing through the Pack now clustered in the doorway. "Stiles? Are you all right?"

"Christ, not you, too," Stiles muttered.

Derek addressed Scott instead. "What happened, Scott?"

"Will you calm down, please?" Stiles said, flailing his free hand until it landed on Derek's forearm. "And maybe get me off the floor?"

" _Move_ ," Derek snapped, and the crowd dispersed as he and Scott got Stiles to his feet, then guided him out to Derek's bed. They gingerly sat him down, where Stiles covered his eyes with one hand, still holding on to Scott to steady himself.

"Looks like our cue to scram," Malia said, sidling up to Lydia.

"I guess," Lydia said. "Is he gonna be all right?"

"I'll be fine," Stiles assured her. "At least, I hope so."

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. "That's so reassuring."

"All right," Derek said. "Everyone out."

Derek ushered them all to the door, except for Stiles and Scott, although Allison tried to hang back; Stiles guessed she felt a little guilty for pulling him away from the Pack for a few minutes, even though he was glad she did. Her confession about how she'd rescued Isaac had made him realize a couple of things he hadn't been ready to face yet.

"Do you want me to take you home?" Scott asked, sitting beside Stiles on the bed. "I'm sure Derek won't mind if you stay, but... I know how you feel about being in your own bed."

"Maybe," Stiles replied. "I don't know yet."

"Well, I'll stay here until you do," Scott said with a small smile. He gave Stiles' hand a squeeze.

Stiles stared at both of their hands, turned his palm up so that he could lace their fingers together. He met Scott's eyes to find him staring at him with what Stiles believed was a very hopeful expression. He returned Scott's smile then, and Scott leaned closer to him.

Stiles met him halfway, met Scott's lips with his own, his stomach doing somersaults at the contact, which he was sure was Scott's doing and not the babies'. He felt Scott's hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him in, his thumb rubbing lazy circles behind his ear.

Scott pulled back first, biting his lip as he watched Stiles take a deep breath after the break.

"What happened to taking it easy?" Stiles asked.

Scott ducked his head. "Sorry."

Stiles bumped their shoulders together. "I'm not."

Scott grinned up at him. "Hey, do you mind if I try something?"

"Try what?"

"It's something Deaton told me... that I might not be able to hear the heartbeats unless I shift?"

"So you wanna... shift? To hear the heartbeats?"

"To see if it works," Scott replied with a nod.

"Yeah, go for it," Stiles said.

With the green light from Stiles, Scott stood, loosened himself with a roll of his shoulders, and started to shift. His eyes glowed red, his fangs lengthened, and hair sprouted on his face where before there was none.

He was still for a moment, staring at Stiles' belly, waiting.

"Anything?"

Instead of answering, Scott knelt in front of him, tentatively reaching out a clawed hand and settling it gently on Stiles' stomach. Stiles kept very still, watching for a reaction from his best friend.

Suddenly, Scott smiled. "I can hear them," he said quietly. "And I can _feel_ them, too. I can feel the heartbeats."

"Whoa, really?"

"Yeah, it's... It's intense, Stiles."

"What, like, intense like rapid heartbeats? Are they too fast? Is that a good thing?"

"They're supposed to be fast, Stiles," Scott said, glaring at him. "But I meant, it's..."

"Surreal?"

"Yeah. Surreal."

They were interrupted by Derek, returning finally from clearing out the loft. "Stiles, you're welcome to crash here tonight if you--" He came to a halt when he saw them, Scott on his knees before Stiles, hand on his belly, a look of absolute joy in his eyes.

"Derek, you have to shift to hear the heartbeats," Scott told him, glancing over at him. His smile faltered when he caught sight of Derek, who looked like he'd been punched in the gut. "Derek?"

"Everything all right?" Stiles asked.

"It's fine," Derek said, shaking his head, catching a breath. "You're welcome to stay, too, Scott," he added, then he headed back out, grabbing his jacket as he exited the loft.

Stiles shared a concerned look with Scott before pushing off the bed.

"What are you doing?"

"I have to go after him," Stiles said.

"You shouldn't be on your feet right now," Scott objected.

"I'll be fine, okay? Quit worrying for five seconds, please?"

Scott frowned, shifting back to human, and followed Stiles to the door. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I know how to descend a staircase," Stiles replied, and he shut the door behind himself, leaving Scott alone in the loft.

\----------

"Did you hear what Scott said?" Stiles called after Derek. He was relieved when Derek paused a moment before turning, meeting Stiles at the landing to the set of stairs he was on.

"I heard him," Derek replied.

"You don't want to try it?"

"Do you want me to?"

"I thought you'd want to," Stiles said, suddenly confused. Had he misread Derek's intentions toward him? Was he really only offering help because the kids might be his? That didn't make sense to him.

Of course, what made even less sense to Stiles was the fact that he'd just kissed his best friend, who had kissed him back, and yet now he was here, standing in front of Derek like he wanted to win him over, too. It was all very confusing.

Naturally he blamed the hormones.

"I do want to," Derek said, then he sighed. "Stiles--"

"Yeah, I think I totally misread the situation here," Stiles cut him off. "Whoops."

Now Derek was confused. "What do you mean? How did you read it?"

"I just... I thought you liked me," Stiles said. Then he started rambling. "I mean. I know you _like_ me but I thought it was more than that? But now I'm thinking, you're sticking around so much because these babies might be yours."

"Or they could be Scott's," Derek pointed out.

"Or one could be yours and one his," Stiles suggested. "Or maybe I am the first human being capable of spontaneous asexual reproduction. Who knows?"

Derek ducked his head, hiding a laugh.

"You know what, I'll get Scott to take me home now. I'm fine. It's good."

Stiles turned to go back up, but Derek caught his hand and stopped him. "That didn't bother you?" he asked.

"What?"

"That I might like you that way?"

Stiles gulped. Maybe he hadn't misread the guy after all.

"You didn't misread me, Stiles."

He brought himself to eye-level, both feet on the step in front of Stiles, and leaned in to kiss him.

For a second, Stiles returned the kiss, eyes closed, hands steadying on Derek's waist. Then he paused, his eyes shooting open.

"I kissed Scott," he blurted out.

"Okay?"

"That doesn't bother _you_?"

"No, Stiles, it doesn't bother me."

"Why not?"

Derek sighed. "Because... it doesn't. Do you want me to be jealous or something?"

"I don't know," Stiles confessed. "I don't know what I want. That's the problem."

"I think you know exactly what you want," Derek said, and it certainly didn't help. "And when you figure it out, I'll be there."

"That's a little cockier than I'm used to you being," Stiles admitted. "Confident that I'll choose you over him?"

Derek laughed a little, shaking his head. "Come on, I'll take you back up. I'll make us dinner."

\----------

Derek made dinner, just like he'd said, except he made enough for three out of the assumption that Scott would stick around and eat with them. If Stiles thought he'd been confused before, he should have given himself another hour.

Or three hours, because he certainly hadn't expected the sleeping arrangement they all found themselves in. Derek ushered Stiles to the bed, and when Scott, picking up on whatever was going on between him and Stiles, offered to take the couch, Derek said that wouldn't be necessary.

So there Stiles was, in bed between the both of them, too confounded by the evening's events to fall asleep. In fact, of the three of them, Derek seemed the only one of them who could sleep.

"What happened downstairs?" Scott whispered.

Stiles opened his eyes and looked up at Scott, unable to even pretend to sleep anymore. "You know how I said I thought he was into me?" he whispered back.

"Yeah?"

"I was right."

"I figured as much," Scott said, a little louder, then checked to see if he'd waken up Derek. The former alpha was still fast asleep, snoring softly.

"We kissed," Stiles admitted.

"Oh."

"And I told him about us."

"Oh?"

"He was okay with it," Stiles said. "I think he thinks you'll have to fight for me or something? I don't know. It was very confusing. It's still confusing."

"You're telling me," Scott said. He reached out for Stiles' hand. "But I was thinking about what Malia said earlier. About your scent."

"Yeah? What about it?"

"It could be why I... Which is not to say I don't want to kiss you again, but... I don't know. Maybe your scent is affecting me more than I realize?"

"Like, pheromones make you want to jump me?" Stiles said, chuckling softly.

"Yeah, maybe," Scott replied.

"I'm touched."

" _Stiles_..."

Stiles shifted on the bed, releasing Scott's hand. "Scott, let me up," he said, agitated.

"Why, what is it?" Scott scooted off the bed and helped Stiles to his feet.

"Sudden urge to pee," Stiles explained, then hurried to the bathroom. The light came on after the door closed, and a fan hummed softly behind the door.

Scott sighed and laid back down, careful not to jostle the bed too much and wake Derek. For a minute, all was silent, except for the muted sounds of Stiles in the bathroom. Then the bed moved a bit, Derek turning onto his back, clasping hands over his stomach. He didn't open his eyes.

"You didn't notice his scent had changed?"

"You noticed it?" Scott asked, too frustrated with himself for not noticing that he didn't care that Derek had listened to their whole conversation.

"When he came over here to tell me," Derek replied. "I noticed it then, but I didn't know what it meant. Not at first."

"Can I ask you something, Derek?" Without waiting for a response, Scott continued. "Do we have to fight each other now?"

"Why would we have to fight each other?"

"Because we both want Stiles," Scott said. "Is it part of some... werewolf mating thing?"

Derek laughed, his eyes still closed. "We don't have to fight each other, Scott."

"Then how do we decide...?"

Derek finally looked over at him. "I'm pretty sure that Stiles is the one who decides."

"What if he doesn't want to?" Scott asked. "I mean, what if he _can't_ decide? What if he's attached to both of us because..."

"Because he's carrying your kid and mine?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah."

"If he doesn't want to make a choice," Derek said, "then he doesn't. And we won't make him."

Scott flopped back onto his back with a sigh.

"With some werewolves, it's natural to have group relationships," Derek added into the quiet room. "My grandparents, for example, were a triad."

"Triad?"

"There were three of them," Derek explained. "The broader term for it is _polyamory_. Multiple lovers."

"Polyamory? Like Mormons?"

Derek stifled a laugh. "No, Scott, that's _polygamy_."

"Oh. Sorry."

"With polyamory, you're talking about something consensual, not something that's forced on the pack by religion."

"So we'd all have to agree to it then?"

Derek turned to look at him once more. "If that's what we all wanted."

"So that means... me and you, we'd have to...?"

"That's up to us," Derek said. "Not every member of a group relationship has to be 'together'. I assumed it would be more like Stiles having both of us, rather than all three of us having each other."

"But then I'd have to be okay with Stiles being with you?"

"Yes," Derek said. "And I'd have to be okay with him being with you. And he'd have to be okay with all of it."

"Okay with all of what?" Stiles said, exiting the bathroom.

"Polyamory," Scott said.

"Oooo-kay," Stiles replied. Then he drew in a deep breath and said, "You might wanna give it an hour before going to the bathroom. Apparently my intestines aren't getting along with your progeny."

"Gross, dude," Scott said.

Instead of making Scott get up again, Stiles crawled between them, up from the foot of the bed, laying with his back to Scott. He took Scott's arm and wrapped it around his waist, clasping Scott's hand in his, then leaned forward and kissed Derek.

Scott was quiet a moment, tightening his hold on Stiles before he realized. "You heard our conversation, didn't you?"

"Yep," Stiles confirmed, and he squirmed a little as he got comfortable on the bed.

"Good," Derek said. "We can have a longer one tomorrow, when it's not one in the morning."

Scott nuzzled against the back of Stiles' neck, not expecting Stiles to turn his head enough to plant a kiss on his lips, too. For a moment after they parted, Stiles held his gaze, then he smiled, returned to his previous position, and settled against Scott's chest.

"We don't have to kiss, do we?" Scott asked, staring at Derek with an eyebrow raised.

Derek opened one eye. "Go to sleep, Scott."

"I can leave the room again, if you two want more time alone," Stiles said, earning him a soft but not-too-subtle whine from Scott.

"I don't want you to leave again," Scott said.

"Fair enough," Stiles mumbled. "Not planning on going anywhere."

Stiles felt himself finally drifting off, content and warm between the two people he'd come to care for most in the world.

Right before he dozed off, he felt faintly that someone was missing, but he was asleep before he could figure out who.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the discussion continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA Author's Note: If you are triggered or offended at all by anon hate, stay away from the comments on this chapter. If it happens on other chapters, I will delete for the sake of readers, but I wanna leave here what's already been posted because posterity.

They awoke the next morning in a different position from the one in which they fell asleep: Scott turned onto his back, Stiles rolling over to lay his head on Scott's chest; meanwhile, Derek wrapped himself around Stiles, big spoon curled around small, hand seeking, seeking... and finding Scott's, their fingers lacing together in the dark. The three of them, legs all tangled so you could hardly tell whose ended where, woke to find themselves in this new position, and no one had any objection to it.

Scott was the first awake. At first he assumed that the hand clinging to his belonged to Stiles, but as the early morning drowsiness faded, he realized it was Derek's hand instead. Stiles had one arm wrapped around Scott's waist, the other trapped under his own body, with just enough room to cradle his rounded stomach with an open palm.

Scott watched them both sleep, not wanting to wake them just yet by moving. He'd have to eventually though; with Deaton out of town, it was on Scott to take care of the animals at the clinic over the weekend. But they had time before he had to start thinking about leaving.

He took in a deep breath, catching Stiles' scent, and he let his mind wander, teasing out how he felt about the talk he'd had with Derek a few hours ago, now that he'd slept on it some. He thought it would bother him, sharing Stiles with someone else, but the more he considered it, and with the evidence staring him right in the face, the more he realized he wanted _everything_ for Stiles, wanted him to experience whatever love there was on offer to him, in whatever forms it took. It made all the more sense, the longer he contemplated their positions on the bed; Stiles clinging to Scott, Derek warming his back... Maybe he was over-thinking it, but it lit up a protective streak in Scott to know that Stiles could be surrounded like this and never want for affection.

His further thoughts on the matter were interrupted when Derek woke up next. Without a word, he sat up enough to see that Stiles was still out and Scott was not, and then he spotted their still-entwined fingers and released him with a sheepish smile.

"Sorry," he said quietly.

"It didn't bother me," Scott replied in a soft voice.

Derek met his eyes, looking like he wanted to say something else, but shook his head of it instead. "How bout breakfast?" he asked.

Scott nodded. "Sounds good."

Derek pulled the comforter around Stiles, to make up for the lost heat at his back, and got out of bed, hitting the bathroom before the kitchen.

With his hand now free, Scott found himself lightly tracing fingertips up and down Stiles' arm. He began to stir after a while, mumbling something Scott couldn't make out. When he opened his eyes, Scott settled his hand on Stiles' shoulder, planting a kiss on top of his head.

"Morning," Scott said.

Stiles inhaled sharply. "Hey." His voice was rough with sleep.

"Did you sleep alright?"

"Mmm," was all the response he received, until Stiles tried to bury his face in Scott's chest. "It's too bright. What time is it?"

"Uh..." Scott scanned the room, not seeing a clock anywhere. "I have no idea."

Stiles dragged his head up again and glanced over his shoulder. "Derek?"

"In the kitchen," Derek called back.

"You should come back to bed," Stiles said, to which Scott giggled. "It's too early to be up on a Saturday."

"If you don't want breakfast..." Derek replied.

"Nooo... I totally want breakfast," Stiles said.

Stiles took his time getting out of bed though; most of that was because he was still prone to dizziness if he got up too fast, but he also wasn't exactly awake yet. Finally up, he headed for the bathroom while Scott checked to see if Derek wanted a hand in the kitchen.

"I did some thinking this morning," he said as cracked an egg into a frying pan. "About what we discussed earlier."

"Oh?"

"I want it to work," Scott continued. "If it's what Stiles wants, and if you're really okay with it... then I want to go for it."

"And this is what you want," Derek replied, "not what you think you should say?"

"I want Stiles to be happy," Scott insisted. "I know he's happy when he's with me... and I know he's happy with you, too. I don't want to close him off from that. I want. I want him to have... every shred of happiness he can find." He flipped over the fried egg and added, "He deserves it."

"Who deserves what?" Stiles asked, shuffling into the kitchen. He approached Derek and Scott at the stove, watching Derek pour pancake batter from a spoon onto the waiting pan.

"You deserve happiness," Derek said. "And I agree."

"As do I," Stiles said. "But you guys should stop having these discussions without me," he added, hooking his chin over Scott's shoulder.

"You should go sit down," Scott told him. "We'll bring it out when it's done."

"You're both too good to me," Stiles said, and then he pecked them each on the shoulder before going over to the couch.

\----------

After breakfast, Scott had to leave for the clinic. Derek offered to take Stiles home when he was ready, so Scott could go straight there and get the animals fed and their cages cleaned.

For some reason, Derek and Scott kept putting off the polyamory discussion whenever Stiles was actually in the room, a fact Stiles called Derek out on once it was just the two of them.

"So I get why Scott doesn't bring it up," Stiles said, helping Derek clean up the breaks dishes. "It's all new to him, but not to you."

"It's not new to you?"

Stiles shrugged. "I've never seen it in action, but I've read about it."

"Reading about it isn't the same."

"No, but it does mean it's something I've already had time to wrap my brain around, to consider it as a possibility."

Derek washed another plate and handed it to Stiles, who wiped it dry.

"Yesterday, you said you were confused," Derek said. "Now you're not?"

"I was confused because you were being Mister Cryptic about it," Stiles pointed out. "I didn't know about your grandparents."

"I had one grandfather and two grandmothers, on my mother's side," Derek said. "They treated each other as equal partners, raised their children with no concern for whose DNA they had, and they stayed together until the end. Forty-five years, before the first of them passed."

"You said they had a triad," Stiles recalled. "Is that what you'd want for us?"

"I wouldn't discount it, if that's the way things naturally progressed."

"And if it didn't?"

Derek shrugged. "Then it doesn't."

"So when you and Scott were talking this morning, did you decide anything?"

"We're both willing to try," Derek said. "Scott seems pretty invested in making it work."

Stiles put away the last fork as Derek shut off the tap. Tossing the towel aside, he took Derek's hand and placed it over his bump, earning him a pair of raised eyebrows from Derek.

"There's just one more thing before you take me home," he said and smiled. "Time to wolf out."

Derek gulped, the nervousness in his eyes a foreign thing to Stiles. But he nodded once, and after a moment's pause, jerked his head to the side and shifted.

His face was unreadable as his hands drifted over Stiles' belly, as though he were searching for something. His hands stopped to the right of Stiles' belly button, and a little lower to it.

"There's one here," he said. "And the other one..." He brought his other hand to Stiles' body, searching again, stopping on the left, a couple inches higher. "...is here," he finished.

"You feel them?"

"It's just like feeling your own heartbeat through your chest," Derek said. Then he laughed, meeting Stiles' eyes. It was an odd expression on his werewolf face, but it delighted Stiles all the same to see Derek like this, so openly joyful.

Stiles covered both of Derek's hands with his own, wishing he could feel them the way Derek could, the way Scott had last night. Derek returned to his human form and pulled Stiles into his arms.

"Thank you," he said.

Stiles tried to laugh off the sentiment. "What for?"

"Everything," Derek said.

He still wasn't quite sure what _everything_ entailed, but Stiles had an idea at least. He could've made a different decision about this pregnancy, and Derek wouldn't have even known about it. Even keeping them, he didn't have to let Derek into his life like he had; he didn't have to return his affections.

Stiles was just as grateful that he'd made those choices as Derek. In just a few short months, his life had completely changed in ways he never dreamed possible.

Time would tell what changes the next few months would bring, but if they were anything like the others, Stiles was looking forward to it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets back into the swing of figuring things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so anon hate is relegated to chapter 13's comment section. If I see it anywhere else, I will delete with extreme prejudice. Although anon commenting is currently off, I will turn it back on soon, as I know there are legit actual people using anon commenting for good and not evil. Because as fun as yesterday was to wrestle with asshole(s), I have better things to do with my time.
> 
> To wit: I planned far too many things for this chapter, so many things, in fact, that I had to split it up. It really should have been three or four chapters. Oh, well! This is what happens when I am highly caffeinated and in the zone. :D So for those waiting for Peter's return, I offer my humblest apologies, for it'll be chapter 16 instead. D:

"What the hell are you eating?"

Stiles looked up from his culinary abomination to see his dad standing in the kitchen doorway. He shrugged. "Peanut butter," he said, then, after a beat, "and bacon."

The Sheriff scrunched up his nose. "Together?"

"... yes?"

"Okay, then," his dad said, the disgusted look on his face going nowhere. "Is that really your breakfast?"

"Mm, no," Stiles said around a mouthful. "It's second breakfast."

"Right."

There was a horn honking outside, and Stiles got up to put his saucer in the sink. "That'll be Scott," he said, holding his last slice of peanut butter bacon in hand. He was still working on chewing the last slice. Who knew it could be so much harder to chew bacon once you put peanut butter on it? Or maybe the bacon was just too tough.

"Are you taking him to school?"

"He's taking me," Stiles said. He hefted up his backpack, slowly and with some effort to make sure he lifted it correctly. He didn't want to bend over too fast or spring up too quickly, or he'd down on the floor where his backpack had just been.

His dad stopped him in the doorway. "He's taking you on the bike?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "No, dad. He's driving us both in the Jeep. That way, he can bring the Jeep back after school."

"And how are you getting home?"

"Derek's picking me up."

The Sheriff hummed in thought. "Any particular reason why?"

"He's taking me to Deaton's," Stiles explained, a reminder as he was sure he'd told his dad about the clandestine appointment. "I hit eighteen weeks yesterday; Deaton wanted me to come in?" In truth, he was hoping to learn more about this new alpha than anything else. Especially as the alpha seemed to have something more to hide than a Lotus snare.

"Oh. Well," his dad hemmed. "That's good then. That he's taking you."

"Yeah?"

"Well, you said he wanted to be a part of it. And now he is. So that's good."

Stiles smiled. "Yeah. It is."

He hugged his dad and headed out the door.

"Have a good day at school!" the Sheriff shouted after him.

\----------

Stiles sat in the passenger seat of his Jeep, feeling weird about the new perspective. The only time he'd ever been on the passenger side of his own vehicle was to clean it. He watched Scott run his hands over the steering wheel and the controls, familiarizing himself with it from his own new point of view.

"Sure you got this?"

"My mom's car is a manual," Scott replied. "Can't be that bad, right?"

"You break it, you bought it."

Scott chuckled nervously and started the engine.

They made it out of the driveway and onto the road without any problems, much to Stiles' relief. Riding in silence, Stiles allowed for Scott's full concentration, and Scott corrected himself when he reached too far back for the stick, expecting from muscle memory to find it in the same place as the one in his mom's Toyota. Once they were halfway to the school, Stiles was comfortable enough with Scott's driving that he allowed his mind to wander.

The three of them--that is, Derek, Scott, and Stiles--had decided to take things slow, at least until a little while after the babies were born. After that first night all together, Stiles and Scott saw very little of Derek as school picked up pace going into finals week, and Derek began working with Braeden to track the Desert Wolf, who'd dipped off the radar for a while. He half-heartedly wondered if Derek still had a thing for Braeden, or she for him, and decided it would be a good thing if they kept something going on the side. Even if things worked out among the three of them, Stiles knew he couldn't always be there for both Scott and Derek, especially not with two infants to soon care for. He believed they both deserved the same amount of happiness they wanted Stiles to have.

Scott became more affectionate in his touches, and sometimes they kissed, but they hadn't gone beyond that yet. At least, not since the night in the river.

And still Stiles played that night over and over in his head, the guilt he once felt about it lingering in the back of his mind. Everything had worked out, right? There wasn't really any reason to feel bad about it; Derek and Scott and Peter had all been grateful, had all forgiven him--or said there was nothing to forgive--and although it had taken longer with Derek than with Scott, things were normal again. Well, for certain values of normal, considering Stiles' version of 'normal' didn't used to include carrying a litter of possible werewolves in his belly.

When they reached the school parking lot, Scott let out a deep breath.

"You made it," Stiles said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

Scott smiled. "I guess I was more nervous than I thought." He followed the line of cars into the parking lot and hunted down an empty space. "So have you thought about what you're gonna do next semester?"

Stiles ran his hand over the bump; it was getting bigger, but he was still able to hide it with the right layers. He knew that wouldn't last much longer though, and certainly would be impossible by the time spring semester rolled around in a few short weeks.

He took a deep breath, and on the exhale, he nodded. "Yeah, actually. I think I figured something out..."

"But?"

"It all hinges on Finstock."

Scott stopped scanning the parking lot and looked at Stiles. "Why Finstock?"

"After this semester, I only need three classes to graduate. I can do two of them online through a dual enrollment program. As a bonus--it'll count towards a transfer when I'm ready."

"And the other class?"

"The other one is American history." Stiles saw a space up ahead, and the line ahead of them cleared as the last car in front of them pulled into a space. "There's one," he pointed it out.

"So what are you thinking?" Scott asked, pulling into the space. He put the Jeep in park and shut off the engine, handing the keys over. Stiles took the keys without thinking, and they sat there a moment to finish their conversation without the danger of being overheard.

"I'm gonna see if I can convince Coach to let me do it from home. Dad already said he can work out a doctor's note if I need an excuse, but I'm trying not to go that route."

"Why not? I mean, if it worked?"

"The fewer questions I have to answer, the better."

"How are you gonna convince Coach to let you do class at home?"

Stiles let out a heavy sigh. "I have no idea."

Scott got out of the Jeep and came around the passenger side, wary of helping Stiles out of it because he knew his friend would protest. He didn't mind it when they were at home, in relative privacy from the general populace, but at school there were too many possible witnesses for Stiles' liking. So Scott stood there with his hands in his pockets and waited, there if Stiles reached out for him.

Stiles did reach for him, but not for help. He put the keys to the Jeep in Scott's hand. "I don't know why you gave these back to me," he said.

"I don't know why you took them."

Stiles gently back-handed Scott's arm, and they walked together into the school.

\----------

The day felt long but Stiles finally made it to the last hour, and he spent most of it trying to figure out how he'd bring up his question to Finstock after class than actually paying attention to the lesson.

It was the last day covering the Salem witch trials, and snippets of the discussion filtered into Stiles' ears as he doodled mindlessly onto a blank page in his binder. At first, it was just a few squiggly lines here, a few darkened shapes there, and soon he realized he'd drawn the Lotus snare, completely free-hand. He paused in his sketching when Scott cleared his throat.

Finstock was walking between the desks, addressing the class, about to walk right past Stiles.

Thinking quickly, Stiles turned a page and started writing down everything that was on the board.

"Why do you think these people would confess to being witches," Finstock said, "if they weren't really witches?"

"Well, if they confessed," Danny said from across the room, "weren't they spared from execution?"

The discussion continued on the other side of the room, Stiles saved from scrutiny. With Finstock's back now turned to them, Scott tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the page he'd turned over

"What was that?" he mouthed.

Stiles flipped the page back, showing Scott the drawing. Scott's eyebrows went up.

"You drew that?"

Stiles nodded.

Just as the Coach was getting fired up about religious intolerance, the bell rang.

"Thank god," Stiles mumbled. "I wanna get this over with."

"All right, you little delinquents!" Finstock shouted over the din of chairs and desks scratching against the floor. "The final is next week, so use your weekends wisely, people! That goes double for you, Greenberg."

Scott stopped Stiles from closing his binder, getting a better look at the drawing.

"Now I know how Lydia must've felt," Stiles said.

"How so?"

"I didn't even realize what I was doing," Stiles said. "Just... started drawing it."

"That's kind of worrying, Stiles," Scott admitted.

"Tell me about it."

As Scott picked up his books, he gave Stiles an encouraging smile. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

"See you tonight?" 

"Yeah, definitely," Stiles said, remembering they had a plan to start studying for finals over the weekend. "I don't wanna fail anything now."

As the class emptied, Finstock noticed Stiles hovering near his desk, slowly shuffling things into his bag, watching everyone file out.

"What is it, Stilinski?"

The last person left and Stiles headed towards Finstock's desk.

"So... I have a question for you," he started, hugging his arms around his chest. "Kind of a favor, actually."

"I don't do favors for students," Finstock said.

Stiles frowned. "Hear me out?"

After an aggrieved sigh, Finstock said, "Fine. What is it?

Stiles gulped; now was the moment. "Well, we had a conversation a few months ago about something."

Coach Finstock gave him a blank stare, then, a few blinks later, and realization spread across his face. "Oh. Yeah, the thing. How'd that work out?"

"Uh, good. Actually. Really good. We're keeping them."

" _Them?_ "

Stiles laughed, his nervous growing. "Yeah, it's twins."

Finstock scratched his earlobe, tugging on it. "Congratulations, I guess?"

"Thanks."

"And this favor?"

"Well." He cleared his throat, stalling as he tried to get his brain online. "Uh, thing is... I'm trying to work it out so I can do all my classes from home next semester."

Finstock gave a baffled shrug. "Why?"

"Well, because... a father should be close to his children as early as possible?"

"Is that a question?"

"No, it's--" Stiles couldn't help grumbling a little in frustration. "I only need three classes next semester to graduate. I can take pre-calc and my last English online through Beacon Hills Community College. I want to know if... would it be possible to do American history remotely in the spring?"

With a sigh, Finstock stood and walked around his desk. "All right, kid. Have a seat." He half sat, half leaned on the desk, hands clasped in front of him, like he was about to deliver some bad news. When Stiles took a seat in the front row, Finstock continued. "I'll level with you on this one: I'd love to help you out, I really would--but you're not the one having the kids, Stilinski, so no, I don't think that'll work. I'm sorry, but there are parameters in place, and--

Stiles felt desperation rise in him, ratcheting his heart rate up. "Okay, let's try something else. How much do you know about the weird shit that goes down in Beacon Hills?" He nearly clamped a hand over his mouth at the question; if Finstock didn't know about the supernatural, now was a very stupid time to bring him into it.

"More than I'd like to," Coach replied, surprising Stiles. "Why?"

"So you know about...?" Stiles mimed a full, round moon in the sky and faked a wolf howl.

Finstock shook his head at him, squinting as he tried to figure out Stiles' meaning. "The coyote problem?"

Stiles scoffed. "Werewolves. Do you know about werewolves?"

He laughed a little forcefully, and something like recognition crossed his features, then quickly vanished. "Is this drugs talking? Please tell me you're not on drugs." Finstock tilted his head a little, reevaluating. "Although that might explain all the weight you've gained recently."

"I'm not on drugs. I--" Stiles fumed. Did he really wanna do this? Tell someone else? Someone who probably didn't even need to know? He should just get his dad to forge a note, or lie to his doctor, or _something_ , like he said he would do.

But he would never escape the questions. He could see an entire semester from Finstock now, knowing--or rather, thinking he knew--the real reason Stiles wasn't on campus anymore.

Okay, so maybe Finstock didn't really _want_ to know. Wasn't he always saying that to him? To Scott? The chains in the locker, the thing in Mexico... Coach Finstock relished his ignorance. But it was time _someone_ told him the truth. Even if it had to be now, even if it had to be this way. The guy had been on the edge of it for so long, and it had nearly killed him at one point.

 _Stiles_ had nearly killed him.

The look on Finstock's face sealed it; he was waiting, he was expectant, he _knew_ Stiles was hiding something.

Stiles inhaled deeply and finally said it. "I was knocked up by a werewolf."

He watched the Coach's face go blank, staring at Stiles as if he were waiting for the punchline. But then he didn't actually need one. A grin broke out on his face and soon he was full-body laughing, his face turning red from it.

"Oh, that's a good one," Coach said, wiping his eyes. "You had me going there."

Pushing up from his desk, Stiles pulled off his hoodie, feeling his shirt ride up a little. "I don't have a girlfriend, Coach," he said, showing him his belly. "I _am_ the one having the kids."

Finstock's expression quickly changed to one of horrified disbelief. "That's not... No. I refuse to believe it. Either you've let yourself go, or, or... this is some kind of prank."

"It's not a prank, I swear."

Looking down at himself, Stiles happened to catch sight of a tiny foot-shape protrusion under his skin, before it quickly disappeared. It was the first time one of them had kicked, but he didn't have the luxury of enjoying it just yet.

"See?" he said. "Also, wow, that was a first."

"Hoo, boy," Finstock muttered, still staring, leaning back and away from Stiles. "I think I need to sit down."

"You're already sitting down," Stiles said, finally letting his shirt drop.

"Then lie down, I think I need to lie down," he said, pushing off his desk before lowering himself onto the floor. Stiles watched in surprise as he actually did lay down, covering his face with one arm.

"I didn't plan on telling anyone else about this, but I'm kind of desperate here. I can't come to school next semester."

"Yeah, you're telling me. Jesus. I'll never be able to unsee that."

Stiles smiled slightly. "And you'll never have to see it again if..."

Finstock moved his arm, and he actually looked a bit green. "I'll start the paperwork." He waved his hand in the air, a shooing motion. "In fact, take the rest of the semester off for me. I'll give you a take-home final, you can have Scott bring it back to me."

"Whoa. Seriously?" It was definitely more than Stiles had expected.

"Call it a baby shower gift," Finstock dead-panned.

With a smile and a nod, Stiles said, "I can do that." He grabbed up his bag, heading for the door, but then he paused. "Hey, Coach?"

"What?" he growled from the floor.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

Stiles made it to the door before Finstock called him back.

"Stilinski."

Stiles stopped, looking back.

"Just take care of yourself? All right?"

He gave the Coach a firm nod. "I will."

When he was gone, Coach Finstock sat up, hauling himself to his feet. Then he shuddered. "Where's the brain bleach when you need it?"

\----------

The school parking lot had mostly emptied when Stiles climbed into Derek's SUV. At least they wouldn't have to sit amid blaring car horns and impatient teenagers in order to get out of there.

"Hey," Derek said simply once Stiles had his door shut.

"Hey, yourself," Stiles said.

"Did you have a good day?" he asked. It was probably meant to be a pleasantry, but it sounded more like he was reading from a script.

"You know you suck at small talk, right?" Stiles said. He fastened his seat belt and gave Derek a small grin.

"Only when I'm around you," Derek replied.

"Aw, I'm flattered," Stiles said. "I get you tongue-tied?"

Derek chuckled, pulling out onto the road.

"We can't go to the clinic until Deaton closes for the day," Derek said. "So we have a couple hours. If there's anything you want to do. If you want to go somewhere?"

"Trying to make this a date?"

Derek shrugged. "Maybe. I haven't seen you in a while."

Stiles looked down at Derek's arm resting on the partition between them, and he laid his own arm beside his, taking Derek's hand, linking their fingers together. "Can we just drive?"

Looking down at their hands, Derek nodded. "Yeah. We can do that."

They spent the next twenty minutes in a relaxing silence, Stiles leaning his head back against his head rest and shutting his eyes, Derek stroking circles on Stiles' hand where his thumb rested. He dozed off even as they reached the coast, the ocean in full view through the windshield and driver's side windows.

At a small unpopulated section of the beach, Derek pulled off the road and parked. He had to release Stiles' hand in order to do so, but once he shut the engine off, he reached over and stroked a knuckle against Stiles' cheek.

Stiles stirred at the touch, then opened his eyes.

"Where are we?"

"A beach," Derek said.

"Why are we at a beach?"

Derek shrugged tightly, like he thought he'd made a mistake bringing Stiles to the ocean.

"If I'd known we were going to a beach, I'd have packed my swim trunks."

"You can still dip your feet in," Derek pointed out, visibly relaxing.

Stiles unbuckled himself and popped open his door, waiting as Derek got out and came around to help him down. He didn't know why it had to be so easy to get into a vehicle and yet so difficult to get back out.

"You good?" Derek asked, hand around the back of Stiles' arm to steady him.

Stiles nodded. "Think so."

Leaving their shoes and socks behind in the car, they found a good place to sit, where the tide barely touched their toes as it washed upon the shore. Derek helped Stiles down, then sat behind him, one leg on either side, tugging at his shoulders until Stiles was nestled against his chest.

"My own personal werewolf armchair," Stiles said, smiling, his hands on Derek's knees. Then he drew his legs in, digging his toes into the sand.

"Is the water too cold?"

"No, it's good," Stiles replied.

The sun dipped towards the horizon, coloring the sky in bright shades of orange, red, and gold. The water glistened with it, small waves bouncing the light back up, as far as either of them could see.

Stiles let his eyes drift closed, but Derek's hands kept moving, first sitting on top of Stiles' hands and then his shoulders, and Stiles could feel the tension in each touch. Despite the forwardness he exhibited in cradling Stiles between his legs, he still didn't know what to do with his hands.

So Stiles moved them, so Derek would know that wherever he placed them next, they'd be welcome there. What he was hoping for when he put Derek's hands over his stomach was another kick; for a moment, he held them in place, and then he moved his own back to Derek's knees. After a while, he felt the werewolf relax into the new position. A low rumbling in Derek's chest vibrated into Stiles' back, and he smiled at the contented noise.

"Stiles..."

He smiled before he replied, because he'd felt it, too. "Yeah?"

"I think one of them moved," Derek said.

"Good," Stiles said. "It's about time."

"Was that the first time?"

"Second," Stiles said. "It happened in class earlier."

"When you were with Scott."

"Actually, I was alone," Stiles said, figuring he'd leave out how he used the moment to freak his teacher out enough to get clearance to do school at home for the rest of the semester.

Derek rested his chin on Stiles' shoulder, taking in his scent.

"Do I still smell good?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you wouldn't still have your nose behind my ear if I didn't."

"Then you'd be right," Derek said, before playfully nipping at the top of Stiles' ear.

"Hey!" Stiles protested, with no actual desire for him to stop.

The sun had all but disappeared, though, and Stiles remembered where they soon needed to be. He shivered as a breeze ran over them, moving the cool ocean air into their faces.

"All right," Derek said, sobering up from all the scenting he'd been doing. "Hate to say it, but we should head back to Beacon Hills. Magic hour is over."

The word _magic_ tapped something in his recent memory, and Stiles halted Derek's attempt to get them both up.

"What is it?" Derek asked, looking worried.

"You just reminded me," Stiles said, "in class today, we were talking about the Salem witch trials."

"Okay?"

"Witches, Derek. We've never come across one. But they've gotta be out there, right?"

"Yeah, but what does that have to do with--?"

"There's probably spells that require Lotus snare, right? Maybe the Lotus snare wasn't in the river to trap werewolves," Stiles said, figuring it out as he went along. "Maybe the alpha was growing it to sell it. You said Braeden was in town because she tracked the Desert Wolf here? Through black market connections?"

"And?"

Stiles allowed Derek to help him up this time. His mind was now racing with this new theory, but he was still getting colder the longer they were out there.

"They could be working together, you know? The alpha doing the growing, the Desert Wolf doing the selling?"

"I don't know, Stiles, that..."

"It makes perfect sense, and you know it."

For a minute, as they retreated to the car, Derek was quiet, thinking it through. He opened the passenger door and Stiles climbed in, attempting to dust off the bottom of his feet.

"Deaton said that the alpha didn't want him to find something," Derek said, taking up one of Stiles' feet and brushing off the remaining sand. "If it's true he wanted to sell the Lotus snare, then what else is there to find?"

"I don't know yet," Stiles said. "But we need to talk to Chris."

"Argent?" Derek scoffed. "Why do we need to talk to him?"

"He's the hunter, Derek." Stiles pulled both feet inside and reached for his seat belt. "He's studied supernatural creatures of all kinds. If anyone knows about witches, it'll be him."

Derek sighed, bracing an arm against the top of the car. "You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

"Not until I'm proven right," Stiles said. "Or wrong, as the case is unlikely to be."

"All right." Derek stepped back. "We've still got an hour until we need to head to Deaton's, so... Let's go talk to Chris."

"Hey," Stiles called to him, pulling him back in, close enough to kiss him. "Thanks."

Derek cupped a hand around the back of Stiles' neck and did kiss him, until Stiles shivered under his warm touch.

"Okay," Derek said, "we gotta go."

Derek cranked the heater after starting the car, and Stiles put his bare feet on the dash to warm them faster. He didn't start putting his shoes on until they were almost to the Argents' apartment.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation with Chris, and then a visit to Deaton's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon commenting is back on, yaaaaay. Use it responsibly.

The pleased look on Chris' face was not what Stiles expected when the hunter opened his door to them. It was the first time he'd seen him since Stiles came over, scared and panicked that he might be dying, and despite the hoodie, he was at the point where anyone who knew to look for it could see that he'd grown in the middle over the last few months.

Beside him, Derek had his hands in his jacket pocket, standing close to his shoulder in a way that let Stiles know he was there without being overbearing.

"Stiles, you're looking well," Chris greeted him. "Wouldn't have thought to hear myself say it, but you're glowing."

Also not words Stiles ever expected to hear directed at himself, much less from a man old enough to have kids his age.

He shuffled in the doorway, looking to Derek, whose face had scrunched up as he examined Stiles for the aforementioned "glow". Stiles looked back to Chris. "Uhh--thank you. I think."

"What do you know about witches?" Derek asked, point blank.

"Great segue, Derek," Stiles mumbled.

"You wanna know, don't you?"

Chris stepped out of the doorway. "Why don't you boys come inside?" He shut the door behind them and directed them to sit. "What do you need to know about them?"

"We wanna know about their spell supplies, mostly," Stiles explained. "Like how they get them?"

Chris shook his head. "The same way you get gardening supplies, I wager."

"Are there rare things they might need?" Stiles asked. "Say, cut of a Lotus snare? Things that might need to be kept hidden away?"

Drawing in a deep breath, Chris pondered the question. "I suppose it's possible. I'm not familiar with any spells that require Lotus snare, but that doesn't mean they aren't out there."

"We could ask Deaton about that," Derek told Stiles.

"Did you ever have to hunt a witch?"

"Most witches keep a low profile," Chris said. "They aren't dangerous people, Stiles. Like druids, some can go down a dark path, but it's not very common."

Stiles nodded, considering Chris' response. Dark druids may be rare, but the one they tussled with was still dangerous. And deadly.

"What brought this on?" Chris asked. "Did Deaton find something?"

"Braeden's back in town, looking for the Desert Wolf," Stiles said, and then he pointed to Derek, "who, as Derek tells me, is into some black market supernatural dealings. I'm thinking maybe the alpha who planted that Lotus snare in the Preserve is in touch with the Desert Wolf, trying to sell the thing off or something."

"And I think it was a bait and switch," Derek said.

Chris perked up. "Meaning?"

"The alpha took the snare as a decoy," Derek said. "There's something else he got from Deaton's contact, and that's the thing he doesn't want us to know about."

"Something he wouldn't necessarily notice was missing," Chris replied.

"Or something that wouldn't actually _be_ missing," Derek corrected.

Chris nodded. "Information."

"Precisely. And using the snare against the werewolf population in Beacon Hills was just a nice little bonus."

Stiles jumped in, saying, "If you're right, we have no way of knowing what information the alpha took or why he wanted it."

"This hunter that Deaton went to see," Chris said. "Did he have any specialties? Particular areas of interest?"

Derek shook his head.  "I don't know."

"Find out," Chris told them. "And Stiles, just in case you're right..."

"Yeah?"

"I have a contact down near Niland," he explained. "She lives off the grid, but she's got connections. If anyone knows about an offer of Lotus snare on the black market, it'll be her."

\----------

The last client headed out of Deaton's clinic, carrying a small dog in her arms. Once she'd driven away, Derek shut off the engine and got out of the car, walking around to the passenger side. Stiles had fallen asleep again; Derek was beginning to wonder if he was sleeping at all at night. The driving seemed to lull him a bit, and, what with Stiles asking to just drive earlier, Derek got the impression he wasn't getting enough sleep at home.

Derek opened the passenger door, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Stiles?"

He stirred, looking up at Derek with groggy eyes. "I fell asleep again?"

"Yeah, you did," Derek said, leaning on the inside of the door.

"Sorry."

"You're apologizing for sleeping?"

"Like you said," Stiles told him, climbing out of the car, "we haven't seen each other much."

"If you think I'd rather see you sleep-deprived, you're wrong," Derek replied. He shut the door behind him and led him into the clinic, where Deaton was waiting for them.

"Sometimes Luke and Leia keep me up at night," Stiles explained. "I can't find a comfortable position anymore."

Derek smirked at the names. "Luke and Leia?"

"It's not permanent," Stiles insisted. "Just... I gotta call 'em something."

"You're such a dork," Derek said, smiling.

"Would you prefer Thing One and Thing Two?"

"Absolutely not," Derek said. "Luke and Leia are fine."

"Yeah, let's hope so," Stiles said.

"Gentlemen," Deaton greeted them; he locked the front door once they were inside. Then he opened the partition and gestured Derek and Stiles to the back.

"Before we get to the poking and prodding, I wanted to ask you a couple questions," Stiles said.

Deaton disappeared into his office, returning with a file folder, talking as he flipped through it. "Oh? What sort of questions?"

Stiles glanced Derek's way, and he gave Stiles an encouraging nod.

"About spells," Stiles said. "Particularly ones involving Lotus snare."

Deaton paused, looking up at them. "Well, that is an interesting thought."

"So? You've heard of one?"

"I haven't," Deaton replied. "But I don't know every spell in existence."

"We think..." At an elbow to his side from Derek, Stiles started over. " _I_ think... that the alpha who attacked you meant to sell the Lotus snare on the black market. Maybe even already did--to the Desert Wolf."

"That's a possibility I hadn't considered," Deaton admitted. "Derek? I take it you have a different theory?"

"I thought the alpha might have been after information," Derek said. "Chris Argent wants to know the name of the hunter you met with. And what his areas of interest are. That might narrow down the investigation."

"His name's Michael Chandresakhar," Deaton told him. "Before he retired, he specialized in supernatural creatures that thrive in desert environments."

Stiles tilted his head in interest. "Like the Desert Wolf?"

"Possibly. Although I don't know why this alpha would need that kind of information."

"If I'm right," Stiles said, "and they're working together--"

Derek interrupted. "We destroyed the Lotus snare," he said. "No Lotus snare, no sale."

"Which would lead to one pissed off Desert Wolf," Stiles said.

"So the alpha returned to Michael's so he could learn how to defend himself," Deaton said.

"Are were-coyotes really that different from wolves though?" Stiles asked.

"To my knowledge, no," Deaton said. "But then, I've only ever met one. He came to Beacon Hills to negotiate an alliance with Talia. It fell through, and he disappeared."

"So now what?" Stiles asked. "I mean, what do we do about it?"

"For now, we can start with your check-up," Deaton posited.

Stiles opened his mouth to object, ready to get to the bottom of things now that he was getting somewhere, but Derek stopped him.

"He's right, Stiles."

"You are such a traitor," Stiles mumbled.

"We'll know more once Chris talks to his contact," Derek said. "Besides... I've learned the hard way it's better not to go off half-cocked. We need more information, and we need a plan."

"All right, fine. Let's get this over with," Stiles relented, and Deaton directed him onto the exam table in the middle of the operating area. "Did I ever tell you how much I hate needles?"

"In great detail," Deaton said as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves. "Now you can tell me how you've felt the past few days."

"Tired," Stiles admitted. "Lately, just tired."

"No more dizziness? Or pain?"

"No more dizziness than usual," he said as Deaton affixed a blood pressure cuff around his arm. "I haven't passed out in about, oh, four weeks, so that's a check in the plus column."

"That's good," Deaton said. "And four weeks ago... that was the incident at Derek's loft? The day you told the Pack?"

Stiles nodded. "Oh, and, uh, they started kicking today. Derek even got to feel it."

"Really?" Deaton looked happy to hear it. In fact, it was almost a surprise, a rare bit of emotion on the man's otherwise stoic features. "Now's the time they might start to get a little rowdy," Deaton informed him, jotting something down in the file. "You can take a walk if it gets too uncomfortable. That will oftentimes lure them to sleep."

"That's good to know," Stiles said.

"What about _his_ sleep?" Derek couldn't help but ask. At the quizzical look from Stiles, he folded his arms over his chest, wondering if Stiles had expected him to keep his mouth shut while he was there. "It could be important," he said, defending himself.

"It most definitely is," Deaton replied. "Are you sleeping?"

"Yeah, but..." Stiles shrugged, looking away when Deaton pulled out a needle. "Not a lot?" He tried not to think about the pinch he felt in his arm as Deaton drew blood.

"He said he couldn't get comfortable." Derek placed a hand around the back of Stiles' neck; he still didn't watch, but Stiles calmed at the touch.

"That's to be expected, unfortunately," Deaton said. "You're at the point where lying on your back can be dangerous; the extra weight of the twins can compress important blood vessels. Obviously, lying on your stomach is out of the question. Like I said before, on your left side is the best position, but even that can get uncomfortable after a few hours."

"Yeah, I've noticed," Stiles said with a wince.

"He's putting the needle away now," Derek said.

"Oh, thank god."

The ultrasound machine was already open this time, sitting on a rolling cart by the exam table. "Now, it's been a long while since I did all this for a human," Deaton started, "or even a werewolf, so... it may take a little longer than usual." He flipped through the folder at hand, finding a long, two-page form and checklist.

Stiles blinked at all the empty lines and check boxes. "Whoa, you have to fill in all that?"

"It's mostly measurements, visual evaluation. That sort of thing."

"Talia was the last, wasn't she?" Derek asked softly.

"Until recently." Deaton gave him a smile, but it carried a hint of sadness. "Now, Stiles will be the last."

It was at that moment that Stiles truly acknowledged just how important this was for Derek. His entire family was essentially gone--most of them dead, the rest scattered. Should even one of these babies be a Hale, would that make up for it in some way? Is that one of the reasons he so easily threw himself into this with Stiles?

Deaton headed towards his office with the cart, nodding when Derek followed. "Could you get the door?"

Derek opened the door to Deaton's office. As Deaton wheeled the cart inside, Derek helped Stiles off the exam table and into the office, where he sat once more on the couch. He didn't have to be told this time to lie back, to lift up his shirt. He was ready for the cold gel this time, but as his thoughts ran away with him, he felt like that was all he was ready for.

Stiles knew what it was like to lose a mother. But it was one thing to lose someone than to never have them; was that the fate destined for his own children? While yes, they'd have a wonderful grandmother in Melissa, and the rest of the pack would no doubt smother the twins in affection, Stiles knew little about being a father, much less a mother. Was there truly a difference? Would Luke and Leia resent him for raising them on his own?

And were their dorky nicknames a serious indicator that he really wasn't ready to be a parent?

Derek sat on the edge of the arm rest behind Stiles' head, holding his hand as Deaton evaluated, counted, and measured in relative silence, the machine turned so they couldn't see the screen. Occasionally, he mumbled something unintelligible before he made a note or said, without context, "Yes, that looks good."

"What exactly are you looking for?" Derek asked after a while.

"Signs of abnormalities," Deaton replied.

"You mean birth defects?" Stiles asked, his voice cracking.

"It's standard procedure," Deaton told him. "No need to worry, Stiles; it's unlikely I'll find anything wrong."

"Even though I'm, ya know... Not really made for this kind of thing?"

Deaton made a final note and closed the folder, setting it aside on his desk. "Technically, as far as the supernatural is concerned, you _are_ made for this kind of thing." Then he turned the cart around to show them the screen.

The babies could easily be seen this time, laying back to back in separate black cocoons in Stiles' belly. Deaton tapped a key, and the room was filled with the whooshing sound of twin heartbeats.

"Holy shit," Derek whispered. He stared at them for a moment, unable to move. "There they are."

"This is your nineteenth week, Stiles," Deaton said. "They should be able to hear you speaking or singing to them at this point."

"Hear that, Derek? That means no more swearing."

Derek shook his head, clearly not paying attention to anything they had said. "What?"

"Never mind," Stiles replied with a smile. "But they're fine though, right?" he asked Deaton. "They don't have anything wrong with them? Everything is... tip-top shape?"

"Yes, Stiles, they're both perfectly fine," Deaton said. "And I could even tell you their sexes, if you like."

Stiles looked up at Derek, who finally tore his eyes away from the screen when Stiles reached up and pinched his thigh.

"Sorry, what?"

"The sexes," Stiles said. "We should probably wait for Scott to be here. What do you think?"

"We could call him," Derek suggested.

Stiles considered it, but truthfully, he didn't think he wanted to know yet.

"I think... we should be surprised," Stiles announced.

"You do?"

"Only this one time. I don't know. It's something to look forward to," Stiles explained. "Unless you wanna know?"

Derek's eyes returned to the monitor. "As long as they're healthy."

"My lips are sealed then," Deaton said. "However, we should talk about your due date."

"Which is?"

"May third," Deaton replied. "I'm basing that on both the date of conception, which we know, as well as a few of the measurements I've made today."

"Wait, so..." Stiles pushed himself up. At that, Deaton pulled the sonogram wand off of Stiles' belly and started to pack the ultrasound away, handing Stiles a tissue to wipe off the gel. "The due date. That means--that means birth."

"Yes, typically, that's what it means," Deaton said.

"So I... I'll have to give birth," Stiles said, hands moving through the air as he came to the realization. "That's--how exactly is that supposed to work? I mean. How the hell are they coming out?"

Deaton smirked at the question. "Probably the same way they got in."

"You-- you've got to be kidding," Stiles stammered when he caught on to what Deaton was saying.

"If you don't want to trust nature to take its course," the vet conceded, "we could make other arrangements."

Stiles moved to the edge of the couch. "You mean, like, drug me to sleep and cut me open, right? Because that sounds like an excellent plan."

"It's probably best to plan on a cesarean," Deaton replied, turning serious again. "You'll have to have them here, which means planning an exact date for you to do so."

"Okay, but the due date... Don't you have to wait until that's passed?"

"Actually, the babies will be full-term in early April. If we planned on the due date, there's no guarantee you wouldn't go into labor before then. It's even to be expected since you're carrying twins."

"So we plan on early April then?" Stiles asked, his anxiety over the uncertainties rising with each new question. "What if. Something could happen before then, right? I could have them earlier, and then they'd be premature, so they might not even survive? What happens then? Do I just-- And I can't have them at home. That would be a disaster, not to mention dangerous? Right?"

"Stiles, relax, and try to breathe," Deaton said. "All of these concerns are manageable, I assure you."

Derek moved into the space beside Stiles, now that he was sitting upright, and put an arm around Stiles' shoulder, pressing a kiss to his temple. Stiles melted against him, resting his fidgety hand on Derek's leg, trying to calm his bouncing knee.

"Now," Deaton said, turning back to the ultrasound machine. He popped open a disc drive on its side and removed a compact disc, placing it inside a CD case from his desk. Turning back with a smile, he handed Stiles the case. "This is a video of what you just saw. Make as many photos from it as you like."

Stiles nodded, looking down at the disc now in his hand. "Thanks."

"You'll make one for me, right?" Derek nudged him.

Stiles managed a small smile, feeling himself relax. "Of course."

"I'm going to finish up a few things here before heading home," Deaton told them. "I'll let you know when I'm ready to lock up."

"Thank you," Derek said. He hugged Stiles a little closer to him as Deaton left the office.

"I can't believe I was so stupid to think I could ever be ready for this," Stiles said.

"Of course you're not ready for this, Stiles," Derek said. "But you're surrounded by people who..."

"People who what? Are about to get tired of talking me down from all my figurative ledges?"

"You have a pack," Derek said. "And you're never going to be doing this alone."

Stiles sighed, and they were quiet for a while. All his theories bounced around in his head like ping-pong balls, but he couldn't make any more connections; he was just too tired. He'd have to call Scott on his way home and postpone study time. He wasn't sure he could get much sleep that night, but he had to try.

He leaned into Derek's side, laying his head on Derek's shoulder. Then he shut his eyes, and soon felt gentle fingers stroking up and down his arm.

"Derek?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think Chris' contact can be trusted?"

"If Chris trusts her, I think we can, too."

"You think the alpha will come back to Beacon Hills?"

"I don't know."

Stiles breathed in sharply as he felt another kick, this one a little painful.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I think so," Stiles said. "Luke is using my internal organs as punching bags."

"Which one is which?" Derek asked.

Stiles took Derek's hand and placed on the left side of his abdomen, and just in time for Derek to feel the next kick, too.

"That one's Luke," Stiles said. "Because it feels like he's pitching a tantrum in there."

Derek laughed at that. Then he moved his hand over, to the calmer side of Stiles' belly.

"And Leia?"

"Because she's quiet, and stealthy," Stiles said, "so you know she's up to something."

Derek's smile lit up his face, making all of Luke's sudden shenanigans almost worth it.

"He's gonna keep me up tonight, I can tell."

"You could sleep in my car again," Derek said.

"For what? Five minutes?"

Derek smoothed his palm around Stiles' stomach, making slow, soothing circles.

"Stiles... if it's the only way you can get any sleep, I will drive you up and down the coast for eight hours a night, every night, for the next five months," Derek told him. "Until they're born."

Stiles didn't know what to say to that. On the one hand, it was the most painfully romantic thing he'd ever heard in his life; on the other hand, he was very tempted to take Derek on his offer that very night, but he also wanted to be home, and it wouldn't be fair to actually expect Derek to do that for him. It was too much to ask.

He was saved from having to say anything when Deaton popped back in, everything shut down for the night.

"You boys ready?" he asked.

"Yeah, we're good," Stiles said. He let Derek help him to his feet, even though he probably could've made it on his own, and together they walked out the front.

They walked back to Derek's car, Stiles bumping into Derek every now and then because he was basically dead on his feet. On the way to his house, he texted Scott that he wasn't going to make their study session that night. When prodded, he told Scott that the babies were fine, and then added that he had new ideas about why the Lotus snare was in the Preserve. He'd tell him all about it in the morning.

Stiles was asleep again when Derek pulled up to his house, and he didn't wake up when Derek carried him inside and up to his bed, nor when Derek leaned in close to his belly and whispered, "Keep it down in there. Let your dad get some sleep."

He pulled off Stiles' shoes before drawing the sheet up over him, and then he left, heading back to the loft.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter pays a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. I accidentally two chapters in one night.

He'd tripped the alarm on purpose. He wanted to be found, had a very good reason for it actually, because getting the vet to the clinic before the delivery arrived was the best course of action.

Peter smiled at the double entendre, then returned to flipping through the unmarked patient file, taking in every detail.

The front door swung open exactly fourteen minutes after Peter found his way into the building. He'd planned on setting off the alarm and waiting outside, but, in a fortuitous turn of events, he was able to get past the mountain ash, too; it allowed him to lay hands on Stiles' file.

Alan Deaton stopped short when he saw Peter sitting behind the reception counter, feet propped on the desk.

"How the hell did you get in here?"

"You let me in," Peter replied, not looking up. He gave a nod towards the open partition. "The gate was left wide open."

"And the door?"

"That, I had to lock-pick."

Deaton slipped his hands into his pockets. "And may I ask why?"

"Well, I didn't have your phone number," Peter said, "and we need to talk." He shut the folder and tossed it onto the desk. "Stiles is having twins?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Deaton said calmly.

"Maybe not. Still, I look around this clinic, and do you know what I see?"

"Besides walls made of mountain ash?"

Peter gave him a tight grin. "I see... a veterinarian hospital. What I _don't_ see is a place fit to deliver a human child, much less two of them."

"Again, I don't see how--"

"Yes, I heard you the first time," Peter said, standing. "None of my business."

"What do you want, Peter?"

"I want... to give you a gift," Peter replied.

"You're joking."

"Not joking, although to be more accurate, the gift is for Stiles; you just happen to be the one in its receivership."

Deaton eyed him a moment, suspicious.

Peter pulled a folded envelope from inside his blazer and handed it over. "I took the liberty of opening you a new business account with a medical supply company. Billed directly to me. The first shipment arrives today--which is why I called you here--but it only contains supplies for one newborn. You'll need to order more, to account for the second infant."

Deaton opened the envelope and scanned its contents. "What's your angle, Peter? What's in this for you?"

"Stiles saved my life," Peter said. "I'm simply returning the favor."

"You do realize I have a fully stocked operating room?"

Peter drew closer to Deaton, glaring at him. "Your operating room is fit for dogs, not humans--not even werewolves. And Stiles' pregnancy, being a little out of the ordinary, puts him at a higher risk for premature labor and delivery, which I'm sure you already know. Of course," Peter chuckled darkly, "the fact that he's having twins makes the risk that much greater, and you don't have a single incubator for a human infant."

Deaton sighed, resigned to accepting Peter's gift out of necessity.

"Like I said," Peter continued, "it's billed to me. Order whatever he needs. Spare no expense."

Deaton replaced the invoice in the envelope and slid it into Stiles' patient folder. Then he stepped aside to allow Peter room to leave.

At the door, Peter paused, looking back. "And Alan?"

Deaton met his eyes but said nothing.

"I trust you understand that he's not to know about this," Peter said.

"I wouldn't dream of telling him," Deaton replied.

And then Peter was gone.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris goes to the desert; Scott buys Stiles a gift.

Scott walked into the stock room at Deaton's to find his boss emptying a series of boxes onto a cleared-off shelf.

"What's all this?"

Deaton turned and gave Scott a small smile. "Just a few things we might need, when the time comes."

Scott laid a hand on a box containing an infant incubator, reading the packaging. "Is Stiles gonna be okay?"

"Right now, there's no reason to believe otherwise," Deaton said. "This is all just precaution."

"Where'd all this come from?" Scott asked. "It can't have been cheap."

"It wasn't," Deaton confirmed.

"Can you afford this stuff?" Scott asked.

"You've seen the clinic's financial records," Deaton said. "What do you think?"

"I think you make enough to stay in business," Scott said. "Barely."

Deaton chuckled. "And you'd be right."

Scott swallowed hard, considering how little he could actually provide for a family. He knew he wouldn't be the only one there to do so, but it still hurt that he couldn't... that he was an alpha who still needed to rely on others. "Did Derek buy all this?"

Deaton sighed. "It wasn't Derek."

"Who then? It couldn't have been his dad," Scott said. "Who else has--?" He cut himself off, putting it together. "Did you ask him to do this?"

"To tell you the truth, I didn't know about it until this morning," Deaton said.

Scott grabbed a box cutter and started helping to unpack the boxes. For a while they worked in silence. The reality of Stiles' choice to keep the babies hit him every time he opened a new box, pulling out infant breathing tubes from one box, specially-shaped padding to keep an infant from rolling over out of another.

"Twins can create complications even in a natural pregnancy, Scott," Deaton said, interrupting Scott's thoughts. "Your mother offered to obtain a few supplies from the hospital, but I knew we'd need more than she could reasonably acquire. After seeing Derek with Stiles yesterday, I'd planned on bringing it to his attention."

"And then this happened," Scott said.

"Does it bother you?" Deaton asked. "Knowing that he cares about Stiles?"

Scott sighed. If he was being really honest, the answer would be yes, it bothered him. But he knew it shouldn't. Or rather, he knew that if he could allow for something between Derek and Stiles without getting jealous about it, then he should allow for Peter to at least show concern for him. It wasn't like Stiles wanted to date him, too.

"It's just..." Scott said. "It doesn't make sense to me."

Deaton said nothing in response to that, letting silence surround them once more.

\----------

Niland, California was normally an eight hour drive south, but the way Chris was driving, he could make it there in under six. He'd left Beacon Hills early in the morning, so if he was lucky, he'd make it to Niland by nightfall.

As he crossed into the Mojave Desert, the palm trees and green grass along the highway gave way to low, dried-up bushes and imposing mesas. The sun was low in the sky when Chris reached the edge of Niland, and as scatterings of tents and recreational vehicles on the desert plain came into view, he shifted in his seat, relieved he'd be able to get out and stretch again.

The ostentatious Salvation Mountain beckoned him forward, its bright pinks and greens a rare bit of color on the landscape. He pulled off the dirt road into a makeshift parking lot at the base of the man-made mountain, squinting at the words "GOD IS LOVE" scrawled down the adobe structure as he exited his vehicle.

From where he stood, he scouted a bit, taking slow steps this way and that, searching the horizon in each direction.

"You lost, man?" someone said behind him.

Chris turned to find a scrawny young man in cargo shorts and a dust-covered tee shirt. His feet were bare, his general demeanor open and trusting. His hands were propped on his hips the way a person sometimes stands when they don't know what else to do with their hands.

He must've been inside the mountain, because there wasn't anywhere else he could have been hiding to have gotten this close that quickly.

"No, actually, I'm here looking for someone," Chris said. "Maybe you know them?"

"Maybe I do," the man replied. "They got a name?"

"She has a few names," Chris said. "Not sure which one she's using right now."

"Ah, yeah," the man replied. "I think I know who you're talking about. I mean, we all got nicks around here, ya know? But Loud Mouth has a handful of 'em."

"Loud Mouth?" Chris smiled.

"She isn't here though," the man said. "Not for a few weeks. Went off to Arizona."

The distant revving of a small engine approached; Chris scanned the area, seeing a bike coming towards them. It threw up sand all around, the man astride it much older than Chris. He stopped a few feet off and dismounted.

"Charlie," the man said, and the mountain greeter nodded in his direction. "I got it from here."

"Yeah, man," Charlie said, turning back toward the mountain. He disappeared into one of its many caverns.

"Haven't seen you since you were a young 'in," the old man said to Chris, leaning over the handlebars of his bike.

"We know each other?"

"Well... I knew your father," the old man said. "Never cared for that man."

Chris narrowed his eyes at the man. "I don't blame you."

The man gave a nod, his eyes flashing gold so briefly that Chris might've thought it was the sun in his eyes if he didn't know better. "Atticus," he introduced himself.

Chris shook his offered hand. "Chris Argent."

"I know," Atticus said.

"I can't help but wonder, how did you know who I was?" Chris said.

Atticus didn't answer.

He tried a different question. "Is Atticus your real name?"

Atticus chuckled. "It's real enough," he said.

"Charlie told me the person I'm looking for goes by Loud Mouth," Chris said. "Do you know her?"

"Yeah, I know her. What's it to you?"

"I need information," Chris said. "She may have it."

"Mm," Atticus hummed in thought. "What if she don't wanna give it?"

"That's up to her," Chris said with a shrug. "It doesn't hurt to ask though."

"Well, Charlie may have told you she isn't here," Atticus said. "I could pass on a message, next I hear from her."

"What about your emissary?" Chris asked. "Is he here?"

Atticus shook his head.

"Your alpha?"

"Our alpha's been dead for seventeen years," Atticus said. "We run our own shit around here."

Chris nodded. It made sense. The Slab City pack had always been nomads, despite spending most of their time here, returning to this place no matter which way they dispersed from each other. Having an alpha probably didn't suit them anyway. Chris had never met the Alpha of their pack, he'd only met Evelyn--or Loud Mouth, as she was known here--in person when he was a boy, but she'd taken a liking to him, despite his father coming into their territory to kick up sand in their faces, and they'd kept in contact here and there over the years.

"Do you still get trade coming through here?" Chris asked. It sounded like a normal question, but Atticus caught the meaning in his word choice.

"You know we do," he replied. "Nothing unusual though. Wolfsbane comes through, I don't handle it. But everything else goes through me."

"Everything?"

"What, in particular, are you after, Argent?"

Chris sighed. "It's not me who's after it," he said. "We found Lotus snare in the Preserve in Beacon Hills. It trapped four of the local pack."

Atticus' eyebrows shot upward. "Damn. Bet your daddy didn't mind seeing 'em go."

"No one died," Chris said.

"What do you mean, no one died?"

"We got them out. It was... a delicate situation. But we got them free."

Atticus wiped a hand down his face. "Never heard of anyone escaping one of those things before. So the legends got it wrong?"

"The legends aren't wrong, just incomplete. If we hadn't acted..."

"Right, right."

"Our investigation has me thinking someone wants to sell it."

Atticus nodded. There was a fear in his eyes that hadn't left since Chris mentioned the snare in the Preserve.

"You better talk to Evelyn about that," Atticus said.

"How exactly can I--?"

"Don't normally trust hunters, but you get a werewolf out of Lotus snare... well," Atticus said. "She's here. Not too keen on visitors, mind. But if it's Lotus snare someone's after, she'll know it."

The beta gestured for Chris to get onto the bike behind him.

Chris nodded, climbing on. "The emissary's here, too, isn't he?" He knew Evelyn didn't go anywhere without him.

"Yeah," Atticus conceded. "But our alpha's still dead."

Atticus kick-started the bike and they took off.

\----------

Finals week started in two days, so Scott went over to Stiles' house after work so they could get some studying in before then. On the way over, he passed by a boutique baby store, and decided to stop in for a minute.

He felt weird going in by himself, but after a deep calming breath, he pulled open the door and stepped inside. Almost immediately, a clerk descended upon him and asked if he was looking for anything.

Scott stammered, unprepared for questions.

"No offense, but you look a little young to be here," the woman said. She was a couple inches taller than Scott, college-age, if Scott had to guess. Her name tag read "Amy", and she smiled politely at Scott. "Most guys that come in here aren't usually alone either."

"Well--" Scott thought quickly. "It's my cousin. She's having twins."

"Ah, okay. And you want to get her a gift or something?"

"Is that weird?"

"No, not at all," Amy said. "Maybe have a look around and tell me if you need suggestions?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Scott agreed. Amy started walking away, but Scott all but ran after her. "Actually, there is one thing... or if you have a suggestion. I don't really know what I'm looking for."

"Sure."

"See, uh, my cousin's been having trouble sleeping. I think she has trouble finding a comfortable position?"

Amy gave a knowing nod. "That's a common problem."

"Do you have any ideas or...?"

"I think we have just the thing," Amy said. She led Scott to a wall of bedding and picked up a pillow the size of Scott himself. "These give amazing support," Amy told him. "There's a description on the tag that does a better job selling it than I would. And pictures, too. So she can see all the ways to use it."

"Awesome," Scott said, examining the tag. "I'll take one."

"Great. You want me to hold it up front while you shop some more?"

"Yeah, that'd be good," Scott said.

He spent a few minutes perusing, cautious of spending too much time in there and worrying Stiles if he didn't show up on time. After spotting a couple other things he liked, he made his purchase and headed out. Amy added a huge gift bag into the mix and now all he had to do was figure out how to hold onto it on his bike.

The Sheriff was the one to open the door when Scott knocked.

"Hey, Scott," he greeted him. "Stiles is upstairs. What's in the bag?"

"Oh, just a couple things I bought for Stiles," Scott said, suddenly afraid the gifts screamed WE ARE TOTALLY DATING to Stiles' dad.

"That was nice of you," the Sheriff said. "Well. I'll be in the dining room if you boys need anything."

"Thanks. I'm sure we'll be fine."

Stiles' door was open, but Scott knocked lightly on it anyway.

"Scotty, hey," Stiles said, turning in his desk chair as he slipped his headphones off his head. Then he saw the big gift bag. "What's all that?"

Scott hesitated. Peter had bought all the medical stuff for Stiles, and Derek had offered to practically raise the kids so Stiles could go to college.

And Scott had a pillow.

"Scott? You all right over there?"

"Yeah, it's... just a few things," Scott said, shrugging. He dropped his book bag by the foot of Stiles' bed and handed over the gift bag.

"Things for me?" Stiles looked surprised.

"Yes, things for you."

"That's really sweet, Scott," Stiles said with a bashful smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Scott tried not to let the little thrill at Stiles' gratitude run away with him. "So open it."

Stiles did, tearing into the bag as if it were wrapping paper.

"I said open it, not destroy it," Scott said with a bemused smile.

The pillow sort of sprung out of the torn bag, leaving Scott briefly baffled as to how Amy had squished it all in there.

"Holy--" Stiles examined the pillow's tag. "I didn't even know they made shit like this. I'm trying it out right now."

Scott watched in amusement as Stiles practically wrapped himself around the pillow on his bed, tucking the top half under him to support his belly and the bottom half between his knees.

"Well? Is it good?"

"Good? This thing is heaven," Stiles said. "I'd let you try it out but I'm having trouble letting go of it. You'll have to get your own."

"I don't need one," Scott said. "But I'm glad it works. Now look at the rest of the bag."

Stiles tilted his head up. "There's more?"

"Yes."

"That means moving?"

Scott rolled his eyes and grabbed the shredded gift bag, hauling it to the bed. Sitting cross-legged facing Stiles, he pulled out the two sock monkeys first. They were similar, but not completely identical, their features hand-sewn.

"Oh, hey," Stiles said, taking one of them from Scott. "I used to have one of these."

"These are made for babies, too," Scott said, showing him the tag. "Nothing that'll accidentally get swallowed."

Stiles played with the sock monkey, making it 'walk' up and down Scott's leg. "That's good for human babies, but probably not a deterrent if they have fangs."

"They're not gonna have fangs when they're born."

"And when's the last time you held a newborn werewolf?"

Ignoring his question, Scott pulled out the two onesies. They were both blue, with big black lettering and a wolf silhouette on the front. As soon as he read them, Stiles let out a laugh.

"You are an absolute dork," Stiles said, sitting up and taking one of the onesies from Scott. "And I love you for it."

Scott gulped at the admission, looking down at the onesie still in his hand, rereading the words.

 _My Daddy's the Alpha_.

Stiles was taking a picture of the onesie when Scott looked back up.

"I'm sending this to the whole pack," Stiles said, typing furiously, a mad grin on his face.

"I love you, too, Stiles," Scott said.

Stiles' hands stilled. The grin disappeared. "What?"

"You just said...." Scott shrugged. Maybe he hadn't meant it that way.

Stiles sucked his lower lip between his teeth, biting on it. "We've always loved each other, Scott," he said. "Just not..."

"Not like that, I know," Scott said, shaking his head. "Stiles, I'm sorry, I..."

"Not like that," Stiles interrupted him, "until very recently."

Scott tried not to be too hopeful at Stiles' words, and failed miserably. "Are you saying...?"

"I'm saying thank you, and..." Stiles trailed, folding up the onesie. He sighed, his breath trembling. "And I'm saying I love you. Of course, I do, Scott."

Scott ducked his head, feeling his face go red. A second later, he saw Stiles' hand dart forward and bunch the front of his shirt, and he pulled Scott into a kiss that made the room spin. When they stopped, Stiles added, "And I'm saying we should get to studying before I break the promise we made to Derek and jump your bones right now."

"That's probably wise," Scott said. "Unless you wanna call Derek about it."

"Are you suggesting a threesome?"

"No," Scott balked. " _Stiles._ I meant--"

"Relax, Scott, I was kidding," Stiles said with a laugh. "Besides which, I'd want the chance to enjoy you by myself first."

"Good," Scott replied. "We're on the same page then."

Stiles' phone buzzed, and he picked it up and read the text. "It's from Malia. She called us idiots. But there's a heart after it, so I'm doubtful of her sincerity."

"All right," Scott said, sobering up. He put his hands on Stiles' knees. "Studying. Now. For real this time."

"Yeah, okay," Stiles mumbled, but he couldn't help himself. He leaned forward and gave Scott another kiss. "Like it's my fault you're so damn kissable."

After a roll of his eyes, Scott bunched up Stiles' new pillow and propped it against the headboard, then brought Stiles' books over to him. He took the chair, settling his feet on the edge of the bed. They started with physics, only ten minutes into actual study time when Stiles bumped Scott's foot with his own.

"Sorry, papa wolf, but study time needs to pause," Stiles said. "Five minutes."

Scott dropped his feet to the floor and looked up, expecting Stiles to head to the bathroom or something, but Stiles hadn't budged. He had one hand on his stomach and the other out, waiting for Scott's. "What is it?"

"Get over here and gimme your hand," Stiles insisted.

Scott followed orders, sitting on the side of the bed as Stiles put Scott's hand where his own had rested. They waited, Scott figuring he was meant to feel a kick or something, but nothing happened.

"Damn it," Stiles mumbled. "All the gymnastics possible when you're not here, and now they settle down."

"When did they start kicking?"

"Yesterday," Stiles said. "At least, where you could feel it like this. They've been hopping on pop--or, pop's _bladder_ \--for days now."

Scott smiled.

"Derek felt it yesterday," Stiles told him.

"I'll feel it eventually," Scott replied. "Don't worry."

They spent a couple hours studying before Stiles did need a bathroom break, and Scott decided he'd go outside for some fresh air. It was dark out, a crescent moon just beginning to rise in the sky. Leaving the door open a crack, Scott stood on the front porch and stretched out his back before checking his phone. There was a text from Chris Argent waiting: _No Lotus snare bought/sold that contact knows_. It was sent only twenty minutes before.

Scott tapped out a reply: _What now?_ He waited, looking back to the house, listening for Stiles to come out of the bathroom.

His phone vibrated in his palm. Chris' message was cryptic: _We'll discuss when I return._

 _Should I be worried?_ It felt pointless to ask, because he knew he was going to stay worried until the babies were born, and probably even after, but the mystery of the Lotus snare was an extra level of concern he wanted to dump as soon as he could.

Stiles' voice drifted down to him. "Scott? Where'd you go, buddy?"

"Be right up!" Scott called into the house. His phone vibrated again, and he glanced down. Chris' reply gave him no comfort.

_Don't leave Stiles alone tonight._


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris learns something big down in the desert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, there's a fan mix on the way! I'll be posting it via 8tracks to AO3 before putting up chapter 19.

Evelyn Cleary didn't speak. She'd cried very little as a child, and for a while it remained a mystery as to why, until doctors discovered her vocal cords were partially paralyzed, making any sort of speech intensely painful.

With most people, she used a text-to-speech application on her phone in order to talk to people. This, of course, was a rather new situation, since she'd grown up in an era before even brick cellular phones had come about. Her parents had learned to sign alongside her to make communication easier, and as a child, she tended to associate with kids who couldn't hear and therefore wouldn't expect her to speak, wouldn't hurl insults at her for not doing so. 

Chris had been fascinated by this woman when he was a child. She'd intimidated his father, using only the motion of her hands. Of course, Gerard didn't know American Sign Language, so her husband Rocky, an emissary to a nomadic pack they traveled with, had been summoned to translate for him. As soon as they returned to Beacon Hills, the young Chris Argent begged to be taken to the library so he could find books on sign language.

So when Chris cleared the entrance to the large tent and smiled at Evelyn, greeting her with her first name, he knew what she was saying when she signed to him in return.

"You're looking well," Chris said. "The desert suits you."

He let her embrace him, and she bear-hugged him tighter than he would have thought possible of the witch, if he hadn't already known she was stronger than her stature gave away.

 _You've come a long way to see little me,_ Evelyn signed.

"Yes, I did," Chris said. "Unfortunately, it's not a social call."

 _Problems in Beacon Hills?_ She then gestured to a fold-out camping chair.

Chris took a seat, briefly scanning the room created by the tent. It resembled war-time tents he'd once seen in some historical film, only it was much more makeshift than that, with its scavenged shelves and cases, each no doubt containing all manner of spell books and tools. The tent itself was little more than a few strung-up tarps enclosing the space and shielding it from the rare rainstorm, but it left the ground exposed underneath their feet.

"We found a plant in the Preserve a few months back," Chris explained. "One I've only read about in books."

Evelyn poured hot water into two mugs sitting on the fold-out table in front of them, then placed a tea bag into each. She opened a box containing sugar packets and pulled out three, shaking them together to move the sugar into one end of the packet.

"The plant was a Lotus snare," Chris told her.

She paused halfway into tearing open the sugar, giving Chris a blank look.

"I've come to suspect that someone planted it there in order to make cuttings from it and sell it underground. If I'm right, I figured you'd have heard about it."

Evelyn continued preparing her tea, upending the sugar packets into her mug.

"We had four werewolves get caught in it last August," Chris said. "We were able to free them, and Alan Deaton killed what remained of the Lotus snare, but whoever planted the thing is very angry that it's gone."

Nodding slightly, Evelyn sipped at her tea.

"Am I barking up the wrong tree?"

Evelyn set down her mug. _Only reason for someone to want Lotus snare,_ she signed, _is to capture a werewolf, and leave it to die._

"You've never heard of any spells that require it?"

Evelyn shook her head. _It's a specialized weapon,_ she signed. _Witches consider it an unnatural abomination. They wouldn't touch it. Nor would druids._

Chris nodded. "That's what I was afraid of." He picked up his mug, playing with the tea bag string hanging over its side. Then he put it back down without drinking from it.

_Are your people in danger?_

"I don't know. Probably," Chris replied. "Deaton went to India to talk to a retired hunter he knows. This hunter once had in his possession one of the only remaining flowering Lotus snares in the world, but it was stolen last year. A bit of investigating turns up a suspect, an alpha werewolf who showed up again while Deaton was there. He attacked them both."

 _This alpha,_ Evelyn signed, _you have a picture?_

"I'm afraid I don't," Chris said. "But I might be able to get one." He pulled out his phone and sent Deaton a text, asking if he had an image of the alpha from the hunter's security footage. "Deaton believes the alpha followed him to India to stop him from learning something," he added. "I thought it might be revenge, for destroying the thing." While he had his phone out, he sent Scott a quick text as well.

Evelyn tapped the table twice, to get Chris' attention again. _I'll do a reading._ She stood without waiting for a response, opening a cabinet behind her, pulling out a wide mouthed bowl along with a mortar and pestle. After setting the bowl on the table, she signed, _You brought a cutting, yes?_

Chris raised an eyebrow, then pulled from his pocket a small plastic bag with a piece of the dead Lotus snare inside it, handing it over.

First thing Evelyn did was stoop to the ground and scoop a handful of sand into the wide-mouthed bowl. Then she opened the bag and broke off a piece of the Lotus snare, grinding it up before pouring its dust on top of the sand. Then she glanced to the tent entrance.

Kneeling with the bowl in hand, the witch touched one of the boot prints left behind by Chris. She spent a good minute staring at it, then stirring the sand to clear the boot print away. She moved to the next boot print, and this time she took a handful of sand from it, letting it trickle from her hand into the bowl.

She swirled it around, sifted it through her fingers, then brought it back to the table.

 _Help me clear this,_ she told Chris, and together they removed the tea mugs, the pot, and the tarnished and bent silver tray that held her sugar packets and tea bags. As soon as the table was clear, Evelyn dumped the bowl's contents on top of the flat surface.

Chris watched her work in quiet awe. It was always her hands that grabbed his attention. So expressive and commanding, wielding a power which he knew he could only comprehend on a basic level.

Then he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out to find a text from Scott. He replied, saying they would discuss things later, and almost immediately Scott texted back, _Should I be worried?_

Chris quickly typed a new message for Scott, telling him to stay with Stiles tonight. He couldn't know yet what they were up against, or what the alpha really wanted at this point, but there was no harm in precaution.

His phone buzzed, then again, and a third time, until Chris looked to see several messages from Scott, asking what was going on, and was Stiles in danger, and _I need more than ominous warnings rn._

Chris sighed. He left Evelyn to finish the reading while he went outside the tent to call Scott. The young alpha picked up on the first ring.

 _"Seriously??"_ Scott all but shouted.

"Scott, calm down." Chris glanced down, noticing a line of black ash on top of the sand. He circled the tent to find a full ring of it on the ground, just a few feet beyond the tent's enclosure. "It's just a precaution," he told Scott, squatting down to inspect the ash.

 _"Just a precaution,"_ Scott repeated. _"Based on what?"_

Before he could touch the ash, a pair of bare feet appeared before him. One foot shot out to keep Chris from breaking the line. He looked up to see Charlie standing over him.

"No one knows about any black market deal involving Lotus snare," he said into the phone, eyes locked on Charlie. "Nor would a witch ever touch the stuff to use it in a spell. So we're back to square one."

 _"And I'm staying with Stiles tonight, why? I mean, why tonight? Why not last night? Or a night two weeks ago?"_ His voice was low, like he didn't want to be overheard, but his frustration came through all the same.

"Scott, please. Calm down, okay?" Chris stood again, and Charlie gave him a nod before walking away. "Besides, isn't this sort of reaction more Stiles' behavior than yours?"

 _"Okay,"_ Scott said forcefully. _"I'm sorry, Mr. Argent. I'll reserve my freaking out for more appropriate times, like when I have a boyfriend expecting twins that I may or may not be able to provide for when they're born!"_ he snapped. _"Oh, wait. I already have that!"_

Chris stifled a laugh. It shouldn't be funny, and from Scott's perspective, it obviously wasn't. Scott's outburst reminded him a lot of how he'd reacted when Victoria was pregnant with Allison, but he'd laughed because it wasn't too long ago that Chris would have thought he and Scott couldn't be any more different from each other.

"Scott, listen to me," Chris said, with full seriousness. "Are you listening?"

He heard Scott take in a deep breath and let it out in a huff. _"I'm listening."_

"When I know something--when I know _anything_ \--you will be the first to know. Got it?"

Scott sighed on the other end of the line. _"I got it,"_ he said. _"Sorry. I'm just."_

"I know. I've been there myself," Chris replied. "Now get back to studying."

Scott hung up without another word, and Chris returned to the tent.

"I'm sorry about taking that call," he said as he entered, but Evelyn didn't pay him any attention.

She ran her fingers through the sand and dust, four straight lines from one end of the pile to the other. Then she froze.

"What is it? Evelyn, what do you see?"

She looked up at him, her eyes full of warning. _Danger is coming,_ she signed. She looked back down at the dust, drawing in a deep breath, centering herself. She appeared to be in some sort of trance, swaying back and forth, waiting to see something more. Then she drew a shape in the dust, one Chris had seen before: a spiral. 

"That's not good," Chris said.

The more Chris looked at the spiral and the four lines in the dust, the more it looked like werewolf claw marks over a symbol of vengeance. 

An inhuman howl issued from Evelyn and she raked her nails through the sand, clawing into the table.

"Evelyn!" Chris rushed towards her, pulling her back from the table. Her fingertips were bloody where the wooden table had splintered against her skin. She fought against him with the strength of an alpha, breaking free from Chris and hurtling toward the tent entrance. Her body was snapped backward as she hit an invisible barrier, which turned a bright blue on contact. It also broke her out of the trance.

She clutched at her throat, tears streaming down her face as her breath came in sharp gasps.

A shout came from outside the tent. "Evie?!" A panicked man entered, kneeling by Evelyn's side and holding her to him. His eyes looked sharply up at Chris, demanding answers. "What happened?"

"She went into a trance," Chris said. "Something possessed her."

Evelyn batted her hand at the man's face, and he looked down at her. She tried to sign something, but it came across like a stutter, only one hand under her control, the injured hand hanging in the air.

"You knew this would happen, Rocky," Chris said. "Didn't you?"

The emissary glanced at him a moment.

"That's why you put the mountain ash barrier around the tent," Chris said. " _After_ I entered it. Why?"

"You think she didn't know you were coming?"

"Why would she still do the reading if she knew something like this would happen?"

"Because there is danger coming, and it could affect all of us," Rocky explained. "And now we may know what it is."

Evelyn's hand stopped moving. She shut her eyes and rested against Rocky, slowing her breathing. After a moment, her hand moved again, grabbing for her phone from her pocket. The screen was cracked, but it wasn't completely destroyed; only a small percent of the screen was unreadable. Evelyn typed slowly.

A mechanical female voice came from the phone. "The alpha," it said, then stopped.

"The alpha who planted the snare?" Chris asked.

Evelyn nodded slightly, typed again.

"Wants blood," the voice said again.

"You mean he wants revenge?" Chris asked.

Evelyn shook her head, typed again.

"Blood," the voice repeated.

Chris considered all the evidence: the Lotus snare itself, meant to capture werewolves; the location it was planted; and the werewolves who succumbed to it. Werewolf blood held magical properties; it made sense that someone involved with supernatural trafficking would want werewolf blood.

But it couldn't be just werewolf blood he wanted; otherwise he could have planted that snare almost anywhere there was a pack. Beacon Hills had something no other pack had.

"Blood is a powerful magical tool," Rocky said, looking from Evelyn to Chris. "But whose blood does he want?"

"He wants Scott's," Chris surmised. "He wants the blood of a true alpha."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't done so already, check the fan mix here: [Plus One: A Fan Mix](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3981871)
> 
> My apologies for such a short chapter after a long wait; and for the next couple of weeks, there will likely be only one or two chapters a week, instead of near daily postings, because I am in the middle of trying to move.

He found himself in a familiar clearing by a familiar river, and wondered how he'd got there. Stiles didn't even remember Scott leaving his house after they packed up their books for the night, and he certainly didn't remember leaving it himself. Had he sleep-walked out here? He couldn't remember falling asleep either.

A wind picked up, and he headed towards the road. When he reached it, a line of cars waited for him: Peter's, Deaton's, Chris', his dad's, his Jeep. All were empty, save one; his dad was in the sheriff's department cruiser, speaking into a radio.

"We'll need four hearses because there are four bodies," he said, sounding perturbed.

"Four bodies? Where?"

The Sheriff looked directly at Stiles. "I know you tried, son."

Stiles shook his head, looked down at his obviously pregnant stomach (had he grown overnight?). He _had_ succeeded; the evidence was right there.

Spinning on his heel, Stiles very nearly ran right into Allison and Isaac. Allison smiled at him. "You should have just jerked them off," she told him. Then she laughed. "But I bet you enjoyed yourself down there."

"Yeah, even if you did condemn them all to their graves," Isaac said. He examined his nails, clearing them of mud.

"But I saved them!" Stiles shouted. "I did!"

Allison smacked Isaac's arm. "Don't stress him too much. Or he'll lose the other one."

Stiles felt a pang in his belly and doubled over, clutching his stomach with one hand, clawing at the ground with the other as he was overcome with pain.

"See?" Allison frowned, watching Stiles curiously. "Told you."

"This isn't real," Stiles told himself. "This can't be real!"

Water started to rise around him, bubbling up through the dirt, and vines from the Lotus snare snaked around his limbs, drawing him under the river's surface. Instead of hitting the river bottom, he landed on the stump of the Nemeton, the vines tying him down. Scott, Derek, and Peter surrounded him, tied to its roots; Stiles panicked when he realized they all looked dead. He felt water pouring into his lungs, trying to scream, and then a blur of fur and claws descended on him, striking him. He knew it was the alpha, in the same way knowledge arrives in dreams, like a download into the brain. Then the pain in his belly increased, blinding and white hot as the alpha slashed into him. The water turned red around him.

Strong hands shook him, far too gently to do any good, but it was enough to tell Stiles, again, this wasn't real. This was a dream, a _nightmare_ , and he had to wake up from it.

"Stiles! Stiles?"

Scott's voice echoed under the water. Stiles reached for the surface, straining against the vine.

The vine snapped.

Stiles jolted awake, surging forward, stopped by the same strong hands that woke him.

"Stiles! Stiles, it's okay. It's okay, you're safe. Stiles, you're safe."

Scott kept repeating his name until Stiles realized he was shouting and stopped, gulping in large breaths of air. He threw off the sheets and examined himself, unsure of what he expected, but thankful to find he was okay. There was no blood, and he felt no pain except the burning of his lungs from the near-hyperventilating.

"Stiles? It was a dream. Stiles, look at me."

He looked at Scott, and it grounded him. He collapsed against him, overwhelmed with fatigue.

"It's okay," Scott said. "It was just a dream. You're okay, you're safe now."

He mumbled a single word, "Scott." It was all he could say. Tears stung his eyes and soaked into Scott's shirt.

"I'm here," Scott said. "I'm right here. You're safe."

Stiles curled up as much as he could manage, practically climbing into Scott's lap. Scott didn't complain though, just kept rocking him and reminding him he was safe because Scott was there.

"Wait," Stiles managed. He caught his breath enough to ask, "Why are you still here?"

"Well, you fell asleep," Scott told him. "And I knew your dad had work tonight, so I figured I'd stay. Watch over you."

"Oh," Stiles sighed. "Good call."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Stiles shook his head, scrunching up his eyes.

Scott laid a hand on Stiles' belly, saying again, "You're safe."

There was a tiny kick against Scott's hand that Stiles felt then. He forced himself to try to even out his breathing.

"You're all safe."


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the middle of a storm, Stiles doesn't know where else to go.

Rain beat down on the windows in a steady patter, the grey sky darkening the late afternoon from the sun. Thunder rolled in from somewhere far off, and it wouldn't be too much longer before it was directly overhead.

Chapter after chapter he read, until the light was too faint even for his keen eyes. The drizzle outside was a downpour by then.

Peter took a break, bookmarking his page as he leaned over the arm of his couch to switch on a lamp. He hated the buzz it created, electricity tickling the air around him as he tried to relax, tried to concentrate. Were it any other time, he might go to the kitchen and pour himself a wolfsbane-laced cocktail to relax himself, but it was close to February and he needed to keep his blood clean for the next few months. Instead, he'd been doing more reading than usual. And also drinking more tea.

Then there was another interruption: the door buzzer.

Peter sighed, not bothering with the bookmark this time as he tossed the paperback onto the coffee table. He sauntered over to the door and pressed the call button.

"What do you want?"

The voice that came through was scared, shaky. And familiar.

_"Peter?"_

He didn't need an explanation, although normally he'd play at teasing one out of the boy. With the storm outside and the fear in Stiles' voice, Peter decided not to waste time with games. Instead, he buzzed Stiles in and hurried down to the lobby to retrieve him.

When he entered the lobby from the stairwell, Peter found Stiles waiting by the elevator; he was soaking wet, from head to toe, and shivering. It was the first time Peter had lain eyes on him since he told Peter about the pregnancy, and he'd grown more than Peter would have expected. He found himself staring, then chided himself for it.

"Stiles?"

He turned as Peter approached, and the elevator let out a _ding_ beside him.

"I'm sorry," Stiles started, hugging himself even tighter when Peter ushered him onto the elevator. "I-- You were the closest, and I wouldn't have bothered you, but--"

"Don't worry about that," Peter said, cutting him off. He noticed the boy's lips were white. It would only be a short time before hypothermia set it in. "What's going on?"

"It's..." Stiles shook his head, teeth chattering too much to continue.

"All right, come on," Peter said, pushing Stiles along the hallway to his door. He followed him inside, pulling out a bar stool for him to sit down on, then knelt and started removing Stiles' shoes.

"What are you...?"

Peter pulled Stiles to his now-bare feet and led him through his bedroom into the bathroom. "I'm trying to get you warm," Peter said. He rummaged in the bathroom closet for a couple of large towels and a small one. "Take off your clothes."

"It's fine," Stiles mumbled, his arms still tight around his chest. "I'll be all right."

"Stiles, your clothes are soaked through, and you've been shivering since you got here," Peter replied. He put his hands around Stiles' arms, eyes locked with his. "The last thing you need in your condition is hypothermia."

Stiles dropped his eyes to his stomach and didn't protest further. He reached for his shirt buttons but fumbled in his attempts to undo them.

"Here," Peter said. "Lift your arms." Grabbing both hems of Stiles' button down and tee shirt, he pulled them over Stiles' head and dropped them into the floor. Then he wrapped Stiles in one of the big towels, draping it around his shoulders.

"Thanks," Stiles said. He pulled the towel snug around him.

"I can leave while you lose the pants," Peter said. "Or I can take them off for you." He gave him a small smile and held up an open hand, like he was swearing in to court. "Promise I won't look."

Stiles just nodded. He was starting to get color back in his cheeks, but the shivering had not yet abated.

Peter unbuckled Stiles' belt and undid his pants, wrapping the second towel around his waist before pulling the pants down, along with Stiles' boxers. Stiles leaned against the sink so he could step out of them, and they went into the pile with Stiles' other drenched clothes.

"Now come sit." On the way into the living room, Peter took out a clean sheet, bundling Stiles in it as they headed for the couch.

Stiles took a seat on the sofa, sitting on its edge, a look of panic on his face when he watched water droplets fall from his hair onto the pristine white leather.

Peter sighed and returned to the bathroom for another towel, not wanting Stiles' attention anywhere but on whatever problem brought him there in the first place. He sat on the coffee table across from Stiles, their knees touching as Peter dried his hair.

"Stiles," he said softly, "tell me what's going on."

"I'm not sure," Stiles replied. Then he shook his head. "It's stupid, probably nothing. I'm overreacting. I--"

Peter cupped both hands around Stiles' face. "Trust yourself," he said. "Trust your instincts. Tell me what happened."

Stiles let out a shaky breath. "I think I'm being followed."

"Okay. And why do you think you're being followed?"

"Because in the last couple days, I've seen this guy around town more times than I see Scott. He's caught my eye a few times. I know he's a werewolf, and I think--" Stiles gulped, biting his bottom lip before saying, "Peter, I think he knows."

"About the pregnancy, you mean?"

Stiles could only nod.

"All right, let's start simple," Peter said. "You remember what he looks like?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Good. I want you to close your eyes, and get a good picture of him in your mind. Can you do that?"

"I don't-- I don't know, maybe."

Peter went to his room, pulling out a pencil and sketch pad from his desk drawer, then returned to his seat on the coffee table. He flipped the book open to a clean page.

"Think about what you were doing today before you saw him again," Peter said. "Close your eyes and tell me."

"Uhh... well, I had to go to the school today," Stiles said.

Peter's hand moved lightly across the paper, the pencil loose in his hand. He quickly sketched out two curved lines, one crossing through the other, and an oval encompassing both--the beginnings of a face.

Stiles leaned forward for a closer look. "What are you doing?"

Peter peered up at him through his eyelashes. "Close. Your eyes. And keep telling me about your day."

Stiles shut his eyes and continued. "The school needed me to turn in a form. Dual-enrollment agreement."

"Good. What'd you do after that?"

"Then I went to the bookstore to pick up my textbooks."

"And?"

"That's where I saw him," Stiles said. "He was pretending to look at a book."

"How'd you know he was pretending?"

"Uh, well, he wasn't really looking at the book, but he was flipping the pages. I don't know, just a feeling."

"Okay, that's good," Peter said. "Now. He's watching you. Do you make eye contact?"

"For a split second," Stiles said. "Then I look away."

"Does he?"

Stiles shook his head. "No, he... He keeps staring. I'm trying to hurry out of there but the line's taking forever. After a few minutes, I look for him again. He's in the same place, staring right at me, holding the same book."

"Hold that picture in your mind, Stiles," Peter said. "I'm going to ask you some questions about him, and I'm going to be quick about it. Answer as fast as you can, understand?"

"Yeah... I think so."

"Tell me the first thing you remember about him."

"Uh, I remember his hair," Stiles said. "Kind of long, really wavy. Some grey but mostly black."

"What else?" Peter sketched in the details as Stiles provided them.

"Full beard. Well kept. Trimmed close. And he had side burns, too."

"Hairline--was it receding? Did he have a widow's peak?"

"No widow's peak," Stiles replied. "The rest... hard to tell. His hair was thick. Covered most of his forehead."

"Tell me about his eyes," Peter said.

"Uh, they were intense?" Stiles said, head drooping. "I don't know."

"We'll come back to that," Peter said. "What about his nose? Wide, narrow, short, long?"

"Sort of wide, but short, like someone tried to flatten it against his face," Stiles replied. "Actually, it had a, uh, like a bump in the middle. Like it was broken at some point."

"Good, now the mouth.  Thick lips or thin? Upturned or down-turned corners?"

"Average, I guess? His top lip kind of disappeared into his mustache."

Peter asked more than a dozen questions more, and Stiles answered the best he could, stuttering through the ones he couldn't remember very well. At the end, Peter went back to the eyes, like he said he would. He had Stiles describe their size and shape, the width between them and their depth. Then he had one last question, more for him than for the sketch.

"Color of his eyes?"

Stiles' breathing slowed to a near stop.

Peter paused in his finishing touches, glancing up. "Stiles?"

The boy opened his eyes and looked straight at Peter. "Red."

"What are you-- Are you saying he was an alpha? Did you see them? Did you see his eyes?"

"There was a flash," Stiles muttered. His breathing had become labored. "I barely saw it. Barely remembered. Until just now."

Peter set the sketch book aside and covered one of Stiles' hands with his own, leeching out some of the remaining chill through his skin. Stiles' eyes closed gently, and his breathing returned to normal. When Peter removed his hand, Stiles looked at him with the softest expression, filled with gratitude and fatigue and something close to affection.

And Peter couldn't handle being looked at like that. He stood from the coffee table and moved a few paces away, smoothing a hand over his face.

"What are you thinking?" Stiles asked.

With a deep breath, Peter turned back to face him.

"I'm thinking..." Peter stalled, because he couldn't actually say what he was thinking. It wouldn't be fair to Stiles to lay that at his feet, not now. Maybe not ever.

"It's the alpha who planted the Lotus snare," Stiles said, interrupting Peter's thoughts. "Isn't it?"

"Probably," Peter replied. Then he forced himself to shift his thoughts away from the boy on his couch and onto the thing that was hunting him. "When did you say you first noticed him?"

"Few days ago," Stiles said. "Then I saw him all the time."

"Interesting," Peter mused.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, we're dealing with a werewolf. And an alpha to boot," Peter said. "If you know he's following you, it's because he wants you to know. In fact, I'd bet money he's been following you a lot longer than a few days."

"Why would he want me to know?"

The pieces slotted into place as Peter turned it all over in his mind. "Because he wants to see who you'll go to."

Panic rose in Stiles' eyes. "My dad." He pushed off the sofa and headed for the door.

Peter stepped in his path. "Stiles, wait."

"He could be at my house right now!"

"Stiles - ignoring the fact that all you're wearing is a sheet and a couple of bath towels - he isn't after the people you care about most. He's after the people who are going to get in his way."

"In his way of what?"

"Of you."

Peter watched his energy shift, from his body to his brain, all the motion he used getting to the door now redirected to his arms. He flapped his elbows out as he spoke, hands still clutching the sheet around him.

"Why does he--? What does he want with me?" Then Stiles' eyes drifted down to his stomach. "No. He can't--" Stiles' voice caught in his throat.

"And as long as I'm alive, he _won't_ ," Peter said. He took Stiles back to the couch and had him sit. Picking up the sketch pad, he sat before Stiles once again and flipped the pad over. "Is this the guy who's following you?"

Stiles balked. "Holy-- how did you do that?"

"I'll take that as a yes," Peter said, turning the sketch over so as to commit the werewolf's face to memory.

"No, seriously, Peter. How did you do that?"

"I'm a man of many talents," Peter replied with an elusive smile. When Stiles remained silent, Peter looked up to see the boy's eyes brimming with tears.

He set the sketch pad aside and pulled Stiles into his arms. Stiles buried his face in Peter's shoulder.

"What does he want with my kids, Peter?"

"I don't know," Peter said. He leaned back, holding Stiles up, and he held the boy's gaze. "But I'll make sure he doesn't get to them."

Stiles nodded his okay.

"Why don't you stay the night?" Peter suggested. "I'll take the couch. Your clothes will be dry in the morning. And first thing tomorrow, I'll start tracking this alpha, and we'll get to the bottom of this."

Stiles nodded again, standing when Peter helped him to his feet. But just as soon as he was upright, he nearly toppled over, holding tight to Peter's shirt as he listed backward.

"Okay," Peter said, catching him. "Someone's had too much excitement for one day." Peter picked Stiles up and carried him to his room, setting him on the bed.

"My dad..." Stiles said. "I should call him."

"Where's your phone?"

"It was in my pants pocket," Stiles told him. He shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable, as Peter went to retrieve the phone.

When Peter returned, he had Stiles' clothes bundled in one arm. He handed over the phone and gestured toward the door. "I'll be in the living room. Shout if you need anything." He almost had the door closed when Stiles called out to him.

"Hey, Peter?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," Stiles said. "For everything."

Peter smiled faintly. "Get some sleep."

The door clicked quietly shut, and after a moment, Peter heard Stiles making his call to his father.

He walked through the kitchen to put Stiles' clothes in his dryer, and then he made a phone call of his own, one he'd been dreading, one he'd known he'd have to make as soon as he knew it was Stiles buzzing his door.

The other end of the line rang twice, and then someone answered.

_"Hello?"_

"Stiles is here," Peter said. "I think it's time to read me into it, Alan."


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's apartment, the morning after the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is short, but I haven't written on this in awhile and it needed an update! I'll try to have more very soon. :)

The next morning, Stiles woke slowly, the sunlight almost teasing his eyes open through the white curtains covering Peter's bedroom window. It was like he used to wake up, before the nightmares and the Nogitsune, before the panic attacks. Before his mom got sick.

The slow waking didn't last, however, as his bladder pointed out to him that it was past the full line. Pushing the comforter and sheet aside, he was reminded he was basically naked when he went to sleep the night before. The linens Peter had wrapped him in had shifted in his sleep. He covered himself quickly, even though he was alone in the room, and looked for his clothes. Peter said they'd be dry by morning; had he left them in the dryer overnight? For some reason, Stiles couldn't see the man doing such a thing. By the state of his apartment, Stiles figured Peter was the kind of guy who ironed denim; clothes would never be left to wrinkle in a drying machine.

Then he spotted the neatly folded stack of his clothes on the top of the dresser and smiled. He'd been right. In fact, upon inspection--yep, Stiles' jeans were pressed, as were his shirts and--hell. His _boxers_ were wrinkle-free.

"Well, okay, then," he mumbled to himself, grabbing the shorts and tee shirt as he headed for the bathroom.

After, he climbed back into the (insanely comfortable, insanely huge) bed, snuggling back under the comforter to rewarm himself. He dozed off a few minutes later, and wasn't sure how long he was out when a soft knock tapped on the bedroom door.

 _"Stiles? Are you awake?"_ Peter said through the door.

Stiles murmured his affirmation.

_"May I come in?"_

"Uh." Stiles forced open his eyes. "Yeah. I mean. It's your room, dude."

The door opened softly and Peter entered, carrying a coffee mug and a bowl on a saucer. Both were steaming, and a spoon and loose-leaf tea filter sat on the saucer alongside the bowl. Peter set them both on the bedside table.

"I didn't want to disturb you," Peter said, the manners a bit formal, pressed like Stiles' clothes.

Whatever was in the bowl, it smelled glorious, and took Stiles' mind away from Peter's potential motives in caring for him.

"What's that for?"

"It's for breakfast," Peter replied, eyes narrow, mouth a thin smirk. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, about to sit up. Peter pressed a hand to his shoulder, and he easily slumped back against the pillow again as Peter sat on the edge of the bed, facing him. "Yes. This bed is--oh my _god_." Words really couldn't describe it, other than he felt like he was sleeping in God's own bed itself.

Peter smiled then. "I thought you'd like it."

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Do you spend a lot of time thinking about what I'd like?"

He watched Peter's smile thin, and knew the former alpha would avoid answering such questions for now, possibly even forever.

"I have to go out for a little while," he said instead.

"Oh," Stiles said, then nodded. His clothes were ready for him, his Jeep was parked on the street. It was time for him to leave. "Yeah, of course. I'll get dressed." 

"I don't want-- I'm not saying you have to go anywhere," Peter said, sounding flustered as he put both hands on Stiles' arms to halt his upward movement. Which, interesting: Peter Hale, flustered. Stiles made another note to himself, adding Peter's reaction to the growing list of evidence that Peter had feelings for him. The list had increased in size exponentially the night before.

"I guess you wouldn't have made me breakfast if you wanted me out," Stiles conceded, and Peter looked relieved that Stiles understood.

"You're welcome to stay here as long as you like," Peter said. "As long as you _need_. And help yourself to anything in the kitchen."

"That's awfully generous of you," Stiles said. He laid down halfway, propping on one elbow. "Maybe a little too generous?"

Peter's only reply to that was to clear his throat. "I called Derek and asked him to come over to keep you company until you were ready to go home. He'll be here soon."

"Seriously," Stiles said, his tone brooking no rebuff or argument. "Why are you doing this?"

Peter's hand reached out, and for a moment, Stiles thought Peter might touch his cheek, his chin, something more intimate than his shoulder, for sure. But he hesitated, and the hand landed on Stiles' arm instead. "I'm going to see if I can catch his scent," Peter said. "I don't want you to be alone right now. Not until we know more about who this is and why he's after you."

"Okay," Stiles said, letting the moment go--for now.

Peter inhaled deeply, his usual charisma and posture taking over again. "Enjoy your breakfast," he told Stiles, then quickly leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Stiles' forehead.

Stiles watched him as he headed out, pausing in the doorway and turning back to face him, his eyes cast down. "I spend a little time thinking on what you'd like," he said, and, meeting Stiles' eyes, he added, "but more on what you need."

The door closed gently behind him, and Stiles stared at the door for a good while before remembering the food, the spicy aroma wafting his way and turning his head. He leaned closer to the bedside table, finally able to peer into the bowl. Inside was some kind of oatmeal with apple wedges sitting on top, dusted with a sprinkle of cinnamon. In the mug was hot water. Stiles could see the tea leaves through the cage of the tea filter, and he picked it up, setting it into the mug. He watched the water begin to turn a light green, and he smiled.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles needs to talk to someone about Peter; good thing Derek's over, huh?

It wasn't so much that he was still tired that put Stiles back to sleep after breakfast, but more that Peter's bed just wouldn't let him get out of it. But Peter had told him to stay as long as he needed; he wondered how long he'd have to stay before Peter retracted the offer. If he was right about Peter's feelings, however, that moment would never come.

Although Stiles didn't have werewolf senses, he knew he was getting his scent all over Peter's sheets and pillow, although he didn't think Peter would mind it. In fact, he might not wash the sheets when Stiles left. He should probably be creeped out by that but he wasn't; he'd probably deny it to Scott and Derek, but the thought of being able to make Peter happy made Stiles happy, too.

Underneath the mountain of covers, Stiles moved his hand over his belly. One of the twins was kicking at his hand, but gently, like they were still half-asleep themselves. The kick was almost directly in the middle of his stomach, behind his belly button, so he couldn't make out whether it was Luke or Leia doing the stunts at the moment.

There was a tap on the bedroom door.

_"Stiles?"_

It was Derek's voice. He must've arrived while Stiles dozed off again. He glanced at the clock, thankful he didn't have to go to school when he realized it was after eleven.

"Come in," Stiles called out to him.

The door opened, and Derek shuffled inside, hesitant.

"Here to try out the bed?" Stiles asked, waggling his eyebrows lazily.

"I'm pretty sure Peter didn't call me here to get in bed with you," Derek replied.

"Peter called you here to keep me company," Stiles reminded him. "And I'm not getting out of this bed, so that means you have to get in it."

"Peter would kill me if I got into his bed," Derek said, shaking his head. "But I'm glad you're enjoying it."

Stiles sat up a little. "Are you mad at me?"

"No," Derek scoffed, but it was an obvious lie. Maybe not that he wasn't mad at Stiles, but he was definitely mad about something. "I'm not mad."

"Just disappointed?"

"Why didn't you come to me with this?" Derek asked, and despite his insistence about not getting into Peter's bed, he still sat on its edge, near Stiles' feet.

Stiles shrugged. "Peter was closest. It was raining. I panicked."

Derek nodded. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't--" He paused, rested a hand on Stiles' knee. "I'm just glad you're safe."

Stiles held out his hand. Wary, Derek took it, and put up little fight when Stiles tugged him forward, bringing him down into a kiss. Derek touched his forehead to Stiles', eyes shut to the world, breathing in Stiles' scent.

"I think Peter likes me," Stiles said, hating to spoil the moment. But he knew it needed to be said.

Derek didn't move away. "If he didn't, you wouldn't be in his apartment, in his bed."

Stiles pushed up, sitting with his back to the headboard. Derek looked about to follow him but stopped. "No," Stiles said, "I mean, I think he likes me, the way you and Scott like me."

Derek nodded. "Oh."

"You don't seem surprised by this information."

"I've suspected for a while," Derek replied. Then he looked up sharply at Stiles. "Wait. You don't...?"

Stiles bit his lip, nervous about Derek's reaction. "Would you be mad if I said I did?"

"Why would you like him at all?" Derek asked instead of answering. "After-- well, everything?"

"He's just... been really sweet about this whole thing," Stiles said, thinking how lame his reasoning sounded. "It's not what I expected."

"Peter has murdered innocent people," Derek said, as if Stiles had forgotten. "He used Lydia to bring himself back to life, he turned Scott against his will--"

Stiles bunched a bit of the comforter in his hands, twisting it. "You don't need to remind me," he said softly.

Derek's voice boomed within the room. "Apparently I do."

"I'm not saying I want to date him," Stiles insisted.

"Yet."

"No, never. Not if it makes you this uncomfortable."

Derek scoffed. "But you would if it didn't?"

Stiles said nothing in response, only stared intently at his hands.

"Stiles." Derek's tone held authority, like he was willing Stiles to look at him. He continued even when Stiles resisted. "He tried to kill Scott. Your best friend. That sits okay with you?"

"He tried to have Scott kill him," Stiles said, the words shooting out of his mouth before he could filter them, or decide to hold them back.

"Holy shit," Derek whispered. "How the hell did he manage to convince you?"

"He didn't! We haven't discussed it. He's never even mentioned it."

"Then why would you believe that?"

"I figured it out on my own. On the way back from Mexico."

"You figured it out?"

Stiles sighed, releasing the comforter. He gestured around with his hands as he defended his position. "He turned Kate. He couldn't save his family and he couldn't avenge them - instead, he turned the person responsible. The bite is a gift, right? Okay, maybe it wasn't a bite he gave her. But he did give her _the gift_ , Derek."

"And you think that means, what? That he's reformed?"

"I don't know what it means!" Stiles shouted. "I just--I've been looking at everything all wrong--I've been looking at _Peter_ all wrong, and I know that he cares--that he genuinely cares about what happens to me. And I don't know what to do with that information."

Derek sighed and gave in, climbing over Stiles' legs to the other side of the bed, where he settled back beside him, their shoulders pressed together. He took Stiles' hand and laced their fingers together.

"You don't have to do anything with that information, Stiles," he said calmly. Then he added, with a shaky breath, "Unless you want to."

Stiles squeezed Derek's hand in response, the only reply he could manage. He wanted to reassure Derek that he was still _his_ , that he was still _Scott's_ , and that he fully intended to continue being theirs until the end of time, or until they tired of each other, whichever happened first.

But he also had feelings for Peter. He'd been trying to deny them, but the conversation he'd just had with Derek made him realize he didn't _want_ to deny them. Only, if he pursued anything with Peter, would Derek or Scott stick around? Would they fight for him or would they leave him? Would they ever accept it? Could Stiles even _ask_ that of either of them?

He didn't have any answers yet, didn't know when he'd need to have them by. Certainly before Peter risked life and limb to protect him from the alpha. Certainly before taking things further with Scott or Derek. And, he figured, definitely before the babies were born.

Derek would say he was putting too much on himself, that nothing had to be decided until the babies were born and the last semester of high school was done. Scott would agree.

 _Peter_ would agree. In fact, Peter would insist he wanted nothing from Stiles but Stiles' own comfort and safety. And that, Stiles realized, was what made this difficult. If Peter were being pushy, or insistent, or if he were even trying to woo Stiles in some way, it would be easy to say no, simply because now wasn't the right time. There would be too much to build between them, things like friendship and camaraderie that Stiles already had with Scott and with Derek, and he didn't have the energy to start building those things from scratch with Peter.

But Peter wasn't pushing; he hardly even made his feelings known, at least not explicitly. His admission that he thinks about what Stiles needs was the closest he'd come to opening up about it. That, and telling Stiles he would protect him, that he would protect the twins, and that he would tear down anyone that tried to get to them. With Peter, you don't get much more explicit affection than promises of murderous protection.

Sometime in the middle of thinking through it all, Derek had pulled Stiles close to him, put an arm around his shoulders, and just held onto him, anchoring him. He seemed to be purposefully refraining from touching the bump this time, like he thought Stiles might have revoked his permission to touch him. So Stiles moved Derek's hand, from Derek's thigh to Stiles' stomach, and he sunk deeper into his embrace. There would be time enough to figure all this out when things weren't so crazy anymore.

For now, Derek made Stiles feel safe, and that was exactly what he needed then.

Peter would understand.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter returns from his hunt to find an unexpected person in his apartment.

Peter returned to his building late that evening, after the sun had long since set. He'd tracked the alpha a good distance but lost the scent a few miles outside of town. Now he was exhausted and sweaty and covered in dirt, and the only thing he wanted when he got home was a shower before he collapsed into bed.

Only, he remembered, his bed might still be occupied. He'd told Stiles to stay as long as he wanted, and he'd meant that. In fact, he hoped Stiles was still there, that he hadn't gone home, that he'd have to collapse on the couch this time, but that was certainly the most ridiculous sort of wishful thinking imaginable. The boy didn't have any of his things there, not to mention he'd probably either gotten bored of Derek by now and needed to see another face, or he'd have gone stir-crazy and bailed.

Either way, it was stupid to think he was still there. It was even more idiotic to think he'd be _waiting_ for Peter to come back.

But Stiles was still there, as was Derek.

When Peter entered his apartment, he heard Derek's laughter echoing from the bedroom, followed by Stiles saying, "That is _not_ a full house, you cheater!"

Peter couldn't help a smile, but then a third voice joined their conversation.

"I told you I haven't played this since I was ten!"

Peter frowned and headed for his room, pausing in the doorway with a raised eyebrow.

Scott had his back to the door--which, _what kind of moron sits with their back to the door?_ Peter thought. They were all sitting on his bed, Stiles across from Scott with his back against the headboard, a pillow stuffed behind him, and Derek to Stiles' and Scott's side. Together they formed a nice little triangle, playing cards scattered on top of the comforter between them.

Stiles spotted Peter first, and he froze, looking suddenly scared. Peter realized he'd crossed his arms and drawn himself to his full height behind Scott, and thought how that must look to Stiles. He forced himself to relax his stance, if for no other reason than to ease that fear in Stiles' eyes. It was the last thing he wanted Stiles to feel in his home.

"Did my invitation to this party get lost in the mail?" Peter quipped.

"What happened to you?" Derek asked.

"Tracking the alpha happened to me," Peter replied, still watching Stiles, who hadn't moved yet. "I told you where I was going."

Peter's eyes returned to Scott, narrowing at the alpha among them.

"I invited him," Derek said. "So don't get angry at Stiles."

Peter shook his head. "I hadn't planned on that."

"I guess I should probably go," Scott said, standing.

Peter placed the fingertips of one hand against Scott's chest, debating whether to bring out the claws just to antagonize the young wolf. Of course, with Stiles watching him, he wouldn't dare, so he just held Scott back from the door.

"Sit," he told him. "You need to hear this, too." Peter glanced between the three of them.

"Hear what?" Stiles asked.

"I tracked the alpha's scent around town," Peter said. "I followed him for awhile, trying to find a moment where his guard was down--or a moment where I could tear it down--but there wasn't one."

"He _is_ an alpha," Scott said. "Should we be surprised?"

"No," Peter admitted. "But he knew I was following him. In fact, I think he wanted me to. I think he wanted Stiles alone."

Scott and Derek shared a worried look before Scott turned to Peter and said, "Well, he didn't get what he wanted then."

Peter hummed at this assessment. "No, he didn't."

"So what now?" Stiles asked. "I can't trail beside you guys all the time."

"No, but you could stay here," Peter suggested.

"You mean, like... Live here?"

"Temporarily," Peter said. "Until we know you're safe."

"You think he really needs to?" Scott asked.

Peter noticed a change in Scott's scent, one that made him see something he hadn't explicitly noticed before. The stench of apprehension rolled off of him, making his scent uniquely _Scott_ once again, where before it mingled with Derek's and Stiles' so much that the whole room smelled like a single person, despite there being three bodies in the room.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Peter felt the click in his mind as he understood what such a mingling of personal spoors could only mean.

"What is it?" Stiles asked. "Peter?"

"He's right," Derek responded, before Peter could say anything about their relationship. "Scott has school, and your dad has work. I've been helping Braeden track the Desert Wolf. Peter's the only one who..."

"The only one who isn't doing anything?" Scott supplied.

"Nothing that can't wait," Peter corrected. "Derek, if this alpha really is working with the Desert Wolf, we need to know why, and the sooner the better."

"So that solves it," Stiles said with a solemn nod. "I'll stay here then."

"Are you gonna be okay here?" Scott asked. He laid a hand on Stiles' knee, the gesture containing a multitude of things unspoken between them. Peter felt at once envious of the touch and all it conveyed.

"I'll be fine," Stiles said. "I don't mind staying here, I just... I wish you didn't have to go through all this shit for me."

"We do it gladly," Peter said, ignoring the looks from both Derek and Scott. He knew Derek suspected how he felt about Stiles; Scott would learn soon enough, if he hadn't already found out somehow, because Stiles now knew, and Peter was well aware that the two of them shared everything with each other.

"Do you think...?" Stiles started, trailing off as if he were afraid to ask anything more of them.

"What?" Scott prompted him.

"Could someone take me home for a bit? I need to get some things," Stiles said.

"Sure, I can take you," Scott said.

"I'll be around to pick you up after I have a shower," Peter told him. "That way, you can leave your Jeep at home if you like."

Stiles only nodded, and Scott helped him up and out the door.

Derek hadn't moved the last few minutes, and had barely spoken, so Peter fully expected him to say something he couldn't have said with Stiles or Scott there.

"Whatever it is, make it quick," Peter groaned. "I'm exhausted and filthy."

"Stiles and I discussed a few things after you left this morning," Derek said. "He knows about your feelings for him."

"I should hope so, or he isn't as observant as I'd thought."

"No, he's very observant," Derek said. Standing from the bed, he made his way toward Peter, taking a defensive stance in front of his uncle. "The question is, how observant are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Stiles, Scott, and me," Derek said, and gestured back to the bed, as if that were all the explanation Peter deserved.

But Peter knew what he was driving at. He chuckled. "You don't really think I'm blind, do you? Or that I can't smell the way all of your scents have mingled together? I practically needed name tags just to tell the three of you apart."

"So you know there's no way Scott would be okay with you going after Stiles?" Derek asked. "And you know that Stiles won't give up Scott for you?"

"I notice you're leaving yourself out of the equation," Peter said.

"Answer the question, Peter."

"Which one? You asked two questions."

Derek heaved a sigh, shutting his eyes in exasperation.

"If Stiles is even interested in me," Peter said, "then the choice is his, not Scott's. And not yours, either. But he isn't interested. And allow me to dispel right now any misgivings you may have about Stiles staying here: _I will never hurt him._ That includes making overtures he isn't comfortable receiving."

Derek nodded. "Thank you."

"That was a promise to Stiles," Peter said. "Not to you or Scott."

Derek glared at him.

"Now get out of here and go help Braeden find the Desert Wolf," Peter said. "Preferably _before_ she tries to cut Scott's kid out of Stiles' belly."

Peter didn't even wait for Derek to leave before he headed for the bathroom. The shower was calling still, and Derek knew how to see himself out.

\----------

Later that night, Peter lay on the couch in his living room, in the dark, listening to Stiles' heartbeat through the door of his bedroom. He kept expecting it to slow down, but the rabbit-pulsing was like a jackhammer in Peter's ears - part of the reason he was still awake. It couldn't be healthy, having a resting heart rate that fast. Or maybe Stiles couldn't sleep; anxiety would explain the restlessness under the murmur.

After his shower, Peter had gone to Stiles' house to pick him up, as promised. He'd shared a very curt conversation with the Sheriff, one that more or less consisted solely of the Sheriff telling him that he would table his previous threat to end Peter until such time as Stiles was safe again and didn't need his protection. Peter assumed that meant he was fair game as soon as this whole alpha/Desert Wolf thing was over, and honestly, he would've preferred the threats against himself rather than Stiles if he had any say about it.

When he found the alpha, he'd make sure to have a say.

The door to the bedroom softly clicked, and Peter looked up to see Stiles in the doorway, leaning against the jamb with one hand on his stomach.

"Everything all right?" Peter asked, immediately sitting up.

Stiles shrugged. "Can't sleep."

Peter crossed the room to him. "No one is going to get to you while I'm around," he said, trying to reassure him.

"Yeah, I know," Stiles replied. "I, uh, I keep thinking about everyone that I'm... that I've put out because of this."

"Stiles, no one is 'put out'," Peter countered. "We _want_ to keep you safe."

"Keeping me safe shouldn't mean giving up your bed," Stiles said. "That couch can't be comfortable."

"That's what you're worried about?" Peter scoffed. "Whether I'm uncomfortable out here?"

Stiles was silent, but he nodded.

"Well, you're right," Peter said, hoping a little honesty would sell the lie. "It's not as comfortable as the bed. But I'm perfectly satisfied out here, I assure you. Now why don't you get back to bed? Unless you needed something else...?"

"God, no," Stiles said, scrubbing his face with both hands. "I don't _need_ anything else. All right?"

"Fine," Peter said. "It was a simple question."

"I'm sorry," Stiles said immediately. "I just-- This whole thing is frustrating. I feel so useless."

Peter had a response for that, but he kept it to himself for now. The last thing Stiles needed, it seemed, was another uplifting speech.

"Come on," Stiles said then, gesturing into the room. He held out his hand for Peter.

"What?"

"Come to bed," Stiles said. "I won't be able to sleep with you out here. I just won't. So come to bed. Please?"

"You're sure about this?" Peter asked. "You don't think your boyfriends would disapprove?"

Stiles gaped, clearly surprised that Peter knew about his arrangement, whatever it may be, with Derek and Scott. Then he schooled his expression, eyes narrowing and lips thinning, and he said, "Peter William Hale, get your ass in bed now."

With a laugh, Peter nodded. He grabbed his pillow from the couch and entered his bedroom just as Stiles was getting into bed, shifting to find a comfortable position. Turning down the other side of the bed, Peter paused. "William?" Even under the mountain of covers, he could see Stiles roll his shoulders upward.

"It was a moment that called for middle-naming," Stiles huffed. "Except I don't actually know your middle name."

"Tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

"Ha. No way," the boy said on a yawn. "My middle name is even more unpronounceable than my first."

Peter smiled softly, and as he climbed into bed, he noticed Stiles' heartbeat already slowing as he drifted off to sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter invites Stiles on a trip out of town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is better than no chapter, yes?

The next morning, Peter drew a bath for Stiles before starting on breakfast for them both. Stiles didn't need to be up this early exactly, but he felt he'd been stagnant long enough, that his body could probably use some movement. So he woke when Peter did, and they spent the morning in near complete silence, communicating everything with nods and gestures, Peter handing Stiles a towel on his way into the bathroom, where he found the warm water waiting in the porcelain claw foot bathtub. At one point, after the bath, when Stiles joined Peter in the kitchen, Stiles responded with a murmur of affirmation when Peter held up a carton of eggs as a way of asking Stiles for his breakfast preferences, but in all else they were silent.

It was easy, waking up with Peter, sharing the space and the quiet with him, and he wondered if Peter was this way with every guest (probably not) or if he was just that attuned to his present company (far more likely, though Stiles became flustered at the mere thought of Peter's focused attention, at the way he orbited Stiles like a devoted satellite).

Neither of them spoke until breakfast was finished, and Stiles padded over with bare feet to help Peter with the dishes, half expecting to be told to go sit down or something. But Peter smiled, not looking up, and he continued to wash while Stiles rinsed. He wanted to ask why Peter didn't use the dishwasher, but he didn't think that would be the best thing to break their comfortable silence.

It was Peter who spoke first.

"I have an appointment next week," he started. "It's out of town. Something that can't be rearranged."

"What day is it?" Stiles asked, thinking Peter would want his father watching over him then. "If my dad's got work, I could hang out at the station."

"It's on Tuesday," Peter replied, "and I was going to offer to bring you along."

"Do you think that's safe?"

"Considering the alpha already knows where you live, where you go to school--where you buy _groceries_? I'm thinking getting out of Beacon Hills might be safer than staying."

Stiles nodded. "Where's the appointment?"

"San Francisco," Peter replied. "We'd need to stay a night. Maybe we could do some sight-seeing the following morning. If you'd like to, that is."

Stiles finished rinsing the last plate and set it on the drying rack. Peter turned off the faucet.

"You don't have to decide right now, of course. You can talk it over with... whoever you need to."

"It sounds nice, and you're probably right: getting out of here might be a good idea."

Stiles cocked his head, met Peter's eyes; there was a faint glimmer of hope there that Peter looked desperate to hide.

"So yeah," Stiles said, confirming his desire to go. He'd only been to San Fran once, when he was really little and his mom was still alive. And it would be a good change of scenery. He nodded as he added, "I'll go. Should be fun."

"Good," Peter replied with a single slight nod. "While you let everyone know where you'll be, I'll make the change to my hotel reservations."

Stiles was aware how carefully Peter worded things, now that he knew about Scott and Derek. "Everyone" could just as easily be Stiles' dad and Dr. Deaton, but Stiles felt that Peter was forcing himself to be mindful of Stiles' arrangement with his nephew and former beta - an accommodation that did not go unappreciated.

Tuesday was two days off. Stiles wasn't sure what he'd need to pack. Of course, he'd packed for day trips before, but he was never pregnant then. Should he even be traveling like this? Should he even chance being seen in public at this point? He'd been apprehensive enough even going into the administrative office at Beacon Hills Community College, and that was only for five minutes.

"And why don't you make a list of what you'll need?" Peter suggested. "Anything you don't already have, I'll go out and get."

That reminded Stiles that it was almost time for Scott to arrive. Somehow, he'd managed to rope Peter into letting Scott come over for a study session. And if Peter was saying he'd go out, alone, to pick up things for Stiles? That meant he was going to let them be alone together. In Peter's apartment. In Peter's very pristine, well-kept, not-a-space-for-teenagers apartment.

It had nearly given Stiles an aneurysm the first time he considered that Peter wasn't just stepping outside his comfort zone for him, that he was vaulting out of it to the point where his comfort zone was no longer in view. And Stiles wasn't trying to push him for more, to see how far he could make Peter go before he got over his crush on him and left him to fend for himself, but it just kept happening. Stiles kept asking for things because he kept needing things, and Peter kept giving them to him, kept giving of himself to make Stiles more comfortable, healthy, and safe.

When Scott arrived, he and Peter were cordial, if exceedingly short, with each other. Peter left soon after to do the promised shopping for their upcoming trip, leaving Stiles an open opportunity to tell Scott about it.

"So, Scott," Stiles said, his voice timid and soft. He cleared his throat, booming a little when he spoke again. "Scott?"

His best friend looked up at him from his position at the foot of the bed, books and papers spread around him as he made his notes from the texts. "Yeah?"

"There's something I need to talk to you about," Stiles replied.

"Yeah, sure. Anything." Scott tipped his textbook shut and gave Stiles his full attention.

"It's, uh. Well. Peter has to go out of town on Tuesday."

"He wants you to stay with one of us?"

"No... He wants me to go with him."

Scott took in a deep breath, cautious with his response. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"I think it'd be a good change of pace," Stiles tried. "And I haven't seen San Francisco since I was five."

"But will you be safe, Stiles? I mean, this whole arrangement was supposed to be to protect you, not whisk you off to--" Scott cut himself off and shook his head. "Sorry, I'm just... I know I'm acting jealous even though there's nothing to be worried about."

"Concern isn't a bad thing."

"This goes way beyond concern, dude. You smell like him." Scott frowned. "Pungently."

"Whoops," Stiles said. "Sorry?"

"You don't need to be. You're living in his space; it was bound to happen."

"Peter said I'd probably be safer somewhere else anyway," Stiles said as a shift in the subject. "The alpha knows too much about my life here."

"How long is this trip?" Scott asked warily.

"Dude, it's only one night. Relax. I am not being kidnapped or anything."

"All right," Scott said. "I don't like it, but I trust you."

Stiles nodded. There was a lot of trust being thrown his way lately; he was starting to wonder if he'd inevitably let someone down.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Stiles in San Francisco. Day One.

Stiles was a little sad that he didn't get to see Derek again before he left with Peter for San Francisco. Braeden had picked up the Desert Wolf's trail again, this time in Phoenix, so he'd left with her before Stiles had a chance to say bye. Derek hadn't answered any of Stiles' texts or voice mails, so Scott had promised to tell Derek where Stiles would be when they were in touch again.

He was only slightly more worried now that Derek was incommunicado, because really, there wasn't much more room for additional worry in his life. His tank of problems had reached the full line a while ago. For the last few days, he existed in a constant state of anxiety and near-panic. Having Peter in the room when he slept helped ease his mind a little, but if he'd had things his way, Scott and Derek would have been in that bed, too, and his dad and Scott's mom, and all the rest of the pack, would've been on fold-outs and in sleeping bags in the living room.

Stiles just needed to know they were _all_ safe.

Peter seemed especially tuned to Stiles' anxiety frequency, and it felt his hand was constantly in Stiles', lacing their fingers together and leaching off some of the fret. He didn't need to tell Stiles that stress wasn't good for the babies, and Stiles was grateful that he knew that.

As they sat in Peter's Navigator, hands clasped together and resting on the partition between them as they headed north to San Fran, Stiles marveled at how shiny and clean the vehicle appeared. The cushy leather seats were comfortable and pristine, just like Peter's apartment. Then the owner's manual proved a good distraction after he pulled it from the glove box to find out how old the behemoth SUV was.

Eyes scanning the cover of the booklet in his hands, Stiles stifled a gasp.

 _2013_.

Stiles gulped. Quickly he scanned the odometer on the dash, noting the vehicle only had a couple hundred miles on it. And some of that was from that day.

_Holy shit. This thing is brand new._

"Everything all right?" Peter asked, stroking a thumb on the back of Stiles' hand.

In response, Stiles turned in his seat to look into the back. Two rows of seats behind them, with enough seating for eight, including the driver. This wasn't just a new vehicle. This was a pack vehicle. It was a _family_ vehicle.

"How long have you had this thing?" Stiles finally asked. He knew his voice sounded panicky and he didn't mean for it to; it just happened.

Peter shrugged. "It's brand new. Why?"

"How long?" Stiles asked, insistent.

Peter bit his lower lip. "I bought it yesterday."

"Where's your other car?"

"What other car?"

"Did you trade it in for this thing? What did you even drive before this?"

"I had an Audi A6," Peter said on a sigh. "And yes. I traded it in."

"You traded in a sports car for a minivan."

"It wasn't a sports car, Stiles. And this is hardly a minivan. This is a luxury sport utility vehicle."

Stiles rolled his eyes, but he squeezed Peter's hand a little as well. "I don't know why you even care so much."

"As long as you know that I do," Peter said, lifting their hands to kiss the back of Stiles' knuckles. "That's all that matters."

Stiles felt his face flush with heat, and he didn't pull away even as Peter's lips lingered against his skin.

"I have something for you," Peter said. He nodded down to the partition between them. "It's in there."

Stiles slid the compartment open and pulled out the piece of folded paper from within. Peter released his hand so he could unfold the sheet and read over it.

"I don't get it," Stiles said. The paper was a print-out from a website for a community center in San Francisco. It advertised a support group for transgender parents. They were meeting the following day, Wednesday, around the time Peter would be having his business thing.

"I thought you might be interested," Peter said carefully.

"Interested?" Stiles asked, confused. "I'm not trans."

"No, but you are a pregnant male, and there may be others there, other men, who are currently or who have been pregnant." Peter gave a quick glance in Stiles' direction. "It's only a suggestion. Something you could do while I take care of some business. So you're not alone."

Stiles nodded, though he wasn't sure why. True, it would be nice to have someone else to talk to who'd been through this, someone who maybe understood how weird and unnatural it felt sometimes, but he wasn't sure about entering a group meant to be a safe space for people with identities different from his. He'd probably feel like a fraud the entire time he was there.

"If it doesn't interest you, I have other ideas," Peter said. "I just thought..."

"No, it's..." Stiles trailed off, rereading the paper. "I don't know. It could be good. But it's just. I'm not..."

Peter shook his head. "Think it over. We still have a few miles to go, and then we have to check in at the hotel. And it isn't until tomorrow anyway. There's time to make a decision."

Stiles nodded again, dropping his hands into his lap and letting his eyes glaze over as he stared at the passing trees and cars beside them. Instinctively, he reached over for Peter's hand, his other resting on his belly as they rode the rest of the way in quiet contemplation.

\----------

When they reached the hotel, Stiles was exhausted. From just an hour-long car ride. He got into bed almost as soon as they were in the room, barely noting the double beds and the mints on the pillows. Peter announced he was going to take a shower, and Stiles just had to laugh at that.

"You showered before we left Beacon Hills," Stiles pointed out.

Peter paused, turning to glare at Stiles. "Yes, but it's hot outside, and werewolves are more prone to sweating profusely in lower temperatures than humans. Unless you'd rather I stink up the room...?"

"No, go take your shower," Stiles said, fighting off a yawn. "I'm going to take a nap."

Stiles dozed off as the sound of the running water echoed from the bathroom. Before he was out completely, he had time to note that the door to the bathroom must be open for the shower to be that loud to him.

When he woke up, Stiles checked the clock on the nightstand. The room was darker, the lights dim, but it wasn't night yet, only a few minutes past five. Sunset was just around the corner.

"You hungry?"

Stiles propped himself up on his elbow and looked across the room to see Peter on the other bed, leaning back against the headboard with his laptop sitting open on his thighs.

"Famished, actually." Stiles sat up with great effort and stretched. Then he pushed the covers aside and hauled himself from the bed. "But bathroom first. Are we going out for food or...?"

"We can order room service," Peter said. "Or there's a restaurant downstairs if you prefer."

"Room service sounds amazing," Stiles called out to him from the bathroom. He finished and flushed, washed his hands, and returned to the bed. He wasn't sleepy anymore, but he was still tired, fatigued actually, although he figured a good dinner would ease the aches in his joints and muscles.

"There's a menu by the bed," Peter said, picking up said menu and holding it in Stiles' reach. "Pick whatever you like."

Stiles didn't look at the menu when he took it, instead opting to watch Peter return to his computer, typing something with quick taps. He wondered what sort of business Peter was here for, kept ignoring the obvious notion that Peter had found a house or an apartment in San Fran and planned to move there. Maybe he was closing on a place and that's why they had to come here.

Peter must've felt Stiles' eyes on him because he stopped typing and glanced over at the boy.

"What?"

Stiles shook his head. "Nothing. I was thinking."

"About?"

"About going to that group tomorrow." Glancing down at the menu then, his eyes clouded over with all the rich options available to him. "Also that I don't know what half of this stuff even is. Translate?"

"It's not in French," Peter said with a smirk, but all the same he set his laptop aside and moved to Stiles' bed, sitting on its edge. "Is there anything you're in the mood for? Maybe there's something comparable." Peter took the menu and read over it.

"Something filling but not too heavy," Stiles said. "Nothing with dairy."

Peter nodded. "That, we can do."

\----------

The salad with vinaigrette that Peter selected for Stiles had indeed been filling, so much so that Stiles was immediately sleepy again once he was full. Before going back to bed, though, he took a quick walk down the hall, carefully avoiding being seen too much, just to stretch his legs and keep his blood pressure at a good level, as Deaton had suggested before they left.

Stiles looked down at his stomach. Anyone else might think he had a beer gut at this point, but if they waited and watched, they'd see Luke's foot press against his skin, or Leia's hand doing the same. He never knew that "kicking" actually meant you could see outlines of extremities through your own flesh, and sometimes it still weirded him out. But they were moving so it meant they were still alive in there, and that was all he cared about in the end.

Sometimes he wondered if he actually wanted them, or if some sort of supernatural mojo made him decide to keep them. He never dwelt on such thoughts for very long because the very idea of not keeping these babies made his eyes well with tears, and he hated crying even when he wasn't hormonal; crying while pregnant was especially grueling. Once he started, it was hard to stop. The last thing he needed when he returned to the room were fussy questions when nothing at all was going on.

The door to their room was still open when Stiles returned; Peter didn't like barriers between them if they could help it, just in case something were to happen. Stiles wanted to say that nothing was going to happen in the few feet of hallway there was to traverse, but he held his tongue, not wanting to argue when he knew Peter was only looking out for him.

He shut the door behind himself and crawled into bed, Peter watching him from the corner of his eye.

"I'll shut this off in a minute," Peter said. "Does the light bother you?"

Stiles shook his head, then wondered if Peter could even see the motion from where he'd buried himself under sheets and comforter.

"We don't have to go out until around ten tomorrow," Peter added. "So get good sleep."

"I plan on it." Stiles tried to go to sleep then, but he kept watching Peter from the slit he created between the bed and the covers, most of his head covered still. The light didn't bother him usually, but he'd started to feel a headache rising to accompany his aching back and he didn't want to chance it. He didn't tell Peter because he didn't want the attention at the moment, and because Peter obviously had shit to do, so he left him to it and burrowed into the cocoon he made on the bed.

When the room fell completely dark, Stiles heard Peter shuffling in the room, maybe putting his laptop away or something. Then there were sounds from the other bed as Peter climbed under his own sheet, and the room was quiet again.

Too quiet. And too big. Stiles felt like he was in a cavern. He wondered why there were two beds, why Peter assumed Stiles would want his own when they'd shared a bed the past two nights in his home. Maybe he assumed that, because there was only one bed, there weren't any other options if Stiles wanted Peter in the same room with him. It wasn't like they'd spooned or anything.

"Peter?" The name was a whisper, but he knew the werewolf would hear it.

"Yes?"

Stiles gathered his courage. "Would you come over here?"

He wasn't expecting the lamp to go on. Stiles dove back under the covers, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Apologies," Peter said, and Stiles heard the lamp switch off again. Peter didn't say anything else, but Stiles heard him move from his bed to Stiles', felt the bed dip with his weight. "Better?"

Stiles peered out from behind the sheet and nodded.

They lay facing each other, each with a hand tucked under their head, Stiles' hand under his pillow as well, holding each other's gaze.

Then Peter said, "Good night, Stiles," and Stiles closed his eyes, and soon they were both asleep.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Stiles in San Francisco. Day Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for going AWOL. The next two chapters should be finished and posted within the week. Thanks for hanging in there!

Sometime around midnight, Stiles woke screaming. He'd had the nightmare again, only this time, he _felt_ the claws sinking into his flesh, tearing into him to take his unborn children from him.

The only other difference wasn't part of the dream itself, but a piece of knowledge that had come into Stiles' possession between the first dream and the second: Stiles now realized that the alpha in his nightmare was the very same werewolf who'd been following him. That had frightened him more than being stalked by the alpha, for if this werewolf could invade his dreams, what else could he do? Were Scott and Derek and Peter fighting a losing battle trying to protect him at all?

Stiles felt his throat clench up, his screams coming to a halt in his own ears as a panic attack set in. Strong hands held him and a voice tried to calm him, saying his name over and over again, telling him to breathe. He finally placed the voice as Peter's but that didn't help. He was fighting Peter, trying to get away, but it wasn't Peter he was really fighting. He still felt the vines around his arms and legs, binding him to the stump of the Nemeton beneath the surface of the river.

"Stiles!" Peter's voice boomed in his ears, a roar that made Stiles' body vibrate with its power. He instantly stilled, inhaling sharply. Then his breaths started coming in heavy pants and gasps, the rest of him settling, dropping against Peter's chest.

With his eyes closed, he couldn't see Peter's veins blackening, but all the same he felt the anxiety, tension, and panic recede from his body as Peter siphoned it off.

"You're okay," Peter said, calm and soothing, hands running over Stiles' arms and back as he held him close. "You're safe."

"Peter..."

Peter shushed him gently. "Try not to talk just yet. Get your breathing in order first."

Stiles did as Peter suggested, taking in deep breaths and holding them a few seconds to slow his breathing down. His heart pounded in his chest even still; there was nothing he could do about that, except wait it out.

"I've got you," Peter said, adding again, "You're safe."

Digging his fingers into Peter's bicep, Stiles reeled briefly as a sharp pain went through his stomach. For a moment, he nearly panicked again. But then it subsided, and he chalked it up to gas.

"I'm okay," Stiles said. He sat up a little, still holding onto Peter's arm, Peter's hands still keeping him anchored. "Thanks."

"Of course," Peter replied. His brow was knit with concern. "Bad dream?"

Stiles nodded. "Second time I've had it, too."

"With all that's going on, I'm not surprised."

"He was in the dream, Peter," Stiles told him, meeting his eyes. "He was in it last time, too."

Peter cupped Stiles' cheek. "And that's as close as he'll ever get to you," he attempted to assure him, but he wasn't getting it.

"No, I mean," Stiles shook his head, taking Peter's hand from his face. He didn't let it go. "I had the dream before I knew what he looked like. But it was the same guy. It was the alpha. Somehow, he... He was in my dream before I'd ever seen him."

Peter drew in a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as his mind went into calculation mode. "Are you sure about this?"

"Positive."

Peter gave a grave nod. "There are a couple of explanations for that. It's possible he's established some sort of bond with you somehow, a connection to your mind."

Stiles dropped his head down, his chin nearly touching his chest. "Great. Because I haven't had enough of that in my life."

"Or," Peter continued, turning Stiles' head up to look at him, "it's a side effect of the pregnancy."

"How so?"

"A protective element," Peter said. "A connection between you and the twins."

"That's possible?"

"It's called an etheric cord," Peter replied, "and it's something I've only read about. I've never known it to have actually happened."

"Well, it sounds preferable to the other option," Stiles said as exhaustion overcame him. He slumped into Peter's arms again. The sharp pain returned, causing him to gasp in a breath, and for a few seconds Stiles feared it was something serious.

"Stiles?" Peter's hand followed Stiles' own to his belly, displacing Stiles' fingers so he could leech the pain away.

Stiles watched Peter's arm sprout thin black lines, pulsing with the hurt it took away from his own body, and just as quickly, the tendrils subsided, Peter's arm going back to normal.

"Did it stop hurting?" Peter asked. He sounded confused.

"Yeah, I think it's just gas," Stiles told him. Then he curled a little in Peter's arms, until Peter laid back, pulling Stiles against him, easing him back towards sleep.

"Are you feeling okay?" Peter asked him, his voice quiet.

Stiles nodded against Peter's chest. "Aside from the nightmare? Yeah. I'm okay."

"Okay," Peter replied. "But if that changes..."

"...I'll let you know," Stiles finished for him.

"Good." Peter's hand continued its slow movement up and down Stiles' back.

Stiles couldn't quite go back to sleep though. He dozed a little, drifted off just enough to lose touch with reality for a time, but he was always still a little alert, a little sensitive to Peter's movements and his breathing beneath Stiles' ear.

What he didn't know was that Peter didn't even try to sleep the rest of the night. He listened and waited and watched over Stiles, his worry unassuaged by the occasional blackened vein in his hand as he pulled pain away from Stiles' skin.

\----------

The morning brought a certain calmness to the room, the kind of relaxed atmosphere that only sunlight can provide after a night of terrors.

Peter allowed Stiles the bathroom first thing, and the shower as well, and as the boy busied himself getting cleaned up and then dressed, Peter made phone calls and plans for the day. He kept a continual ear to Stiles' heartbeat, listening for any signs of residual panic or anxiety from the previous night's events, but Stiles was in a more positive mood than Peter anticipated.

They mostly held to the quiet as had become their morning habit, but there was a moment when Stiles relinquished the bathroom to Peter that Stiles stopped him and put his arms around him, hugging him as tightly as he could given the cumbersome girth of his stomach between them.

"What's this for?" Peter had to ask, unused to receiving such unwarranted affection from Stiles.

"Cause I felt like it," Stiles answered, giving Peter a shrug and a half-smile when they parted. He retreated to the bed where his open suitcase sat, and pulled out a clean button-down to pull on over his t-shirt.

When he caught Peter's eye, halfway to buttoning his shirt all the way, Peter realized he'd been staring and cleared his throat, shuffling into the bathroom and shutting the door with a soft click.

\----------

Stiles managed to take in the sights of San Francisco without thinking too much about all the shit going on in the real world. He tried to turn off that part of his brain completely, the worrying and anxious part, but that had never been possible before, much less when he really needed it to be. Still, they'd crossed the Golden Gate Bridge ("Your first suspension bridge, guys," he'd told his stomach), did some people-watching in Union Square and Chinatown (where Peter had purchased a special tea blend for Stiles from a well-hidden medicine shop), and spent a couple of hours at the zoo (where Stiles dared Peter to challenge the wolves, and he'd politely declined, stating such an action would "lack decorum"), all before Peter was supposed to drop Stiles off for the group in the evening, and all without incident.

Peter pulled to the curb outside the building where the group would meet. He unfastened his belt and reached for the door, but Stiles halted him with a hand to his arm.

"You don't have to go in," Stiles said. "I mean. You have your thing, right? I don't want you to be late for that."

Peter glanced at the time on the dash: 4:23.

"Then they'll wait," Peter said, stepping out and around to the passenger side. After opening Stiles' door for him, he added, "I'm not leaving you alone. Even for a few minutes."

Stiles didn't budge from his seat. "What if I wanted you to?"

Peter took a step back. "Do you?"

With a shrug, Stiles stared down at the sidewalk beside the car. "Everyone else is gonna have partners, and I-- we're not exactly... I just want to avoid as many questions as possible." He finally met Peter's eyes and watched him for a reaction.

But Peter was cool and collected, calmly nodding and saying, "Okay. If that's what you'd prefer."

"I just--" Stiles started, thinking he should explain. It wasn't that he didn't want Peter there. He just didn't want to give himself too much ammunition to hope for something if it wouldn't be possible.

"Stiles, it's fine," Peter said, his tone meant to assure him that his words were accurate. Then he held out a hand. "But at least let me help you out of the car?"

Stiles nodded, taking Peter's hand and hauling himself out of the SUV. Once the door was shut behind him, Peter got Stiles' backpack from the backseat and handed it to him, then waited for Stiles to enter the building before he got back into the driver's seat and pulled away.

Inside, Stiles hesitated at every turn: first at the door, then at the reception desk, and then at the doorway to the meeting room. Even when he was already in a room surrounded by others welcoming him, some of them very pregnant and very male - just like him - he had to search out the refreshment table because his mouth had quickly gone dry.

In all, there were seven people, along with a facilitator. Stiles was the only one there without a partner, but not the only one heavily pregnant. In fact, one of the other guys looked about ready to pop in comparison.

"Okay, everyone," the facilitator announced as the wall clock neared four thirty. "Why don't we all take our seats? We have new people today."

"You can sit with us," a woman near Stiles told him. She smiled broadly, and for a minute, she reminded Stiles of Lydia. Her hair was darker though, and obviously dyed its bright auburn color, but her eyes were warm as her perfectly manicured hand patted the seat next to her. A man sat with her, arm draped over the back of her chair. He was the only one who didn't appear to be expecting, at least not anytime soon.

"Hi," the man said, holding out a hand for Stiles to shake. "I'm Robert."

"Stiles," he introduced himself.

"Hello, Stiles," the woman said with a friendly wave. "I'm Carol."

"Hey." Stiles took the offered seat. He wiped his hands on the thighs of his jeans, worried he might have gotten his sticky sweat all over Robert's hand.

"It's our first time, too," Carol told Stiles.

"Oh, nice," Stiles said, and suddenly he felt calmer. If they could walk right in here and be this friendly and open, then maybe he could, too. He tried to make himself relax his posture in the chair, but the tension he seemed to always carry didn't evaporate as easily as he wanted it to. But his breathing remained steady, so that was a plus.

"Good afternoon, all," the facilitator said. She crossed her legs at the ankle while she waited for the room to settle down. "I'm Leslie. I facilitate for the group. As you all probably know, this group is for trans-identified men who have been or who are currently pregnant, or who wish to become pregnant at some point in the future. Of course, partners are welcome, too." She looked directly at Stiles when she said this, and Stiles felt himself shrink back a little. "So why don't we go around the room and introduce ourselves? You can give your name, how you identify, if you like, your preferred pronouns, and anything else you'd like the group to know."

At a nod from Leslie, the couple to her right glanced to each other before one of them spoke.

"I'm Ted, this is Bill," the taller of them said. "No, our names are not supposed to be a Bill & Ted reference," he added with a chuckle, a joke he'd obviously made many times before. "I'm a trans guy, male pronouns. I've completed my transition as far as I want to take it, and when we decided to start a family, we both knew we wanted to try for one biological child and one adopted."

"And as you can tell," Bill said, patting Ted's rounded stomach, "we've been successful."

"That's wonderful," Leslie said. "I haven't seen you for a couple of months, so I'm glad to see things are working out the way you want."

Introductions continued around the room to a trans woman named Ellie and her partner Joe, the trans man who looked close to the nine-month mark, and then to Robert and Carol, who'd just learned that Carol could not conceive and were considering whether Robert should try instead.

At Stiles' turn, all Stiles could do was clear his throat and try not to fall out of his chair when he was hit with a dizzy spell. He knew it was his anxiety jumping into full gear, but Carol seemed to think it was due to his pregnancy. She stood and started rubbing his back in slow circles, telling him to breathe through it.

"Sorry," Stiles finally managed to say.

"There is nothing to be sorry about," Leslie said, her voice soothing. "Do you need more water? Maybe something to nibble on?"

Stiles shook his head, feeling awkward for being fussed over by complete strangers. He was already infiltrating a space that was never meant for him; now he had to be an attention-hog, too?

"I'm fine," he said. "And I'm Stiles. My name is Stiles."

"Stiles," Leslie repeated. "It's good to meet you."

"Thanks," he said to Carol as she returned to her seat.

"Do you have anything else you'd like to say about yourself?" Leslie asked. "Or we can come back to you, if you still need a minute?"

"Um. I guess, just. Male pronouns?"

Leslie nodded. "Sure, of course."

"Can I ask...?" Carol half-raised her hand, looking from Stiles to Leslie.

"You may ask, but Stiles, you don't have to answer," Leslie said.

Even with permission, Carol hesitated. "How far along are you?"

Stiles' hands instinctively went to his belly. "Twenty-four weeks," he said. "So, six months."

"Wow," Carol said. "You must be really excited."

Stiles smiled a little; he definitely was excited, even with everything that was happening.

"It's twins," he told her. "So yeah: excited. But also freaking out on a daily basis."

That earned a few chuckles around the room, and Stiles felt himself relax again.

"Did you know that partners were allowed?" Leslie asked.

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I knew. Or, I figured? But my, uh... my partner's out of town."

"Well, maybe next time?" Ellie interjected from across the circle. She held Joe's hand, their intertwined fingers resting on Joe's bump.

For the remainder of the group, Stiles mostly listened, nodding along whenever someone said something he could relate to (which was more often then he'd thought it'd be) and answering the questions directed at him by Carol (who he thought must be trying to take him under her wing), and eventually he stopped glancing at his phone for the time, his anxiety over being there all but gone. When their two hours ended, Stiles found himself a little disappointed that he'd have to wait a whole month to see everyone again.

He was talking to Carol and Robert out front, considering asking for their emails or something to keep in touch in the interim, when Peter arrived.

"Oh, hey," Stiles said, smiling.

"Stiles," Peter said in greeting. Then he turned his attention to Robert and Carol. "I take it these are the ones who've been holding you hostage?"

"Oh." Stiles felt his smile falter. He didn't need werewolf senses to know that Peter had been worried about him. Quickly, he checked his phone for the time; it was half an hour past the group's end time, and Stiles was surprised Peter had held off coming inside for as long as he had.

"Are you...?" Carol started to ask, then she shook her head.

"Peter," he introduced himself, holding out a hand for Carol and Robert to shake in turn. "A friend of Stiles'."

"Good to meet you," Robert said.

"This is Robert and Carol," Stiles said.

"We were new tonight, too," Carol happily informed him.

"Sorry about being late," Stiles said, softly enough that only Peter heard it.

Carol turned her attention his way. "What was that?"

"Uhhh...."

"It's good to see you're already making friends," Peter replied, covering for Stiles' flailing for an explanation. He slipped a hand onto Stiles' shoulder, siphoning some of his worry away before Stiles could flail about that, too, and Stiles took it for the comforting gesture Peter meant it to be.

Robert gently nudged Carol's arm with his elbow. "We need to get going, hon."

Carol nodded, frowning. "Yeah, we both have work early tomorrow. But it was really nice to meet you!"

"Yeah, you, too," Stiles said.

"Lovely to meet you both," Peter said.

They watched the pair walk away and then Peter guided Stiles outside, opening the door for him.

As soon as Peter was in the driver's seat, Stiles started apologizing again. "I didn't mean to make you worry, I must've lost track of time. It won't happen again."

"Stiles."

Instead of a verbal reply, Stiles just met Peter's eyes.

"Stop apologizing."

"I can do that."

"Now, if you're up for it, I have something I'd like to show you," Peter added as he started the car and pulled into traffic.

"Sure. Is this the super secretive business you had to do while I was in group?"

"Maybe."

Stiles grinned. "I have a feeling I know what it is."

"Oh?"

"You bought a house here, didn't you?"

Peter remained stoic, giving nothing away. "What makes you say that?"

"I know you were looking for a place," Stiles said. "And you don't have a job that I know of. What else would it be?"

Peter's brow furrowed. "Why would I buy a house in San Francisco?"

"Because it's close to Beacon Hills," Stiles said.

"The point of leaving Beacon Hills is to get away from it, not stay close to it."

"Yeah, but that was before this," Stiles said, patting his stomach. Then, quieter, he said, "Before whatever is happening between us started to happen."

Peter didn't reply, just sped up as he put his arm on the center console, taking Stiles' hand in his when Stiles offered it.

\----------

It was night when they arrived, so Stiles couldn't see the house very well, but the street lights illuminated it enough that he could tell it was big--and _nice_. It didn't seem particularly fancy, not a mansion by any definition of the word, but with the multiple levels and ornate shutters over the windows, he figured it was in a price range he couldn't reasonably expect to afford any time soon. Or maybe ever.

Peter opened the door for him as before and helped him out, and together they leaned against the side of the car for a moment, just staring at the house.

"You can't tell from the front, but it has a full backyard," Peter said. "Very important for growing children. And fenced for privacy, which is very important for growing werewolves."

Stiles couldn't help but smile. "So how often are you expecting a visit?"

"Well," Peter said, pausing as if to consider the question (as if he hadn't already), "as often as possible."

"Yeah? I'd think you'd get tired of seeing me every weekend."

"I would get tired of saying _goodbye_ every weekend."

Peter's statement hung in the air around them, and they were quiet a moment. Stiles looked up and down the street in either direction, at the equally gorgeous houses that surrounded this one, trying to ignore the butterflies that always came over him whenever Peter said something that so explicitly informed Stiles of his affection for him.

"Come on," Peter said, gently tugging him forward. "Let's go inside."

"Yeah, okay," Stiles said, letting himself be led.

Inside it was dark, and Stiles roamed the lower level of the house while Peter headed upstairs alone, allowing Stiles time to peruse the living room and the dining area and the kitchen, where he found himself calculating a future he knew was impossible. If only for a moment, he allowed himself to believe it could happen, thinking back on the last time he, Derek, and Scott were all in a room together and Peter had walked in, making the room feel full. He was standing in the kitchen when Peter found him again, staring into the polished chrome of the sink.

Stiles felt a hand in his and he held tightly to it, realizing when Peter started to leach away his sadness that there was actually a sadness there to take. He didn't want to give up the ideas in his head but he knew he'd have to.

"I've figured out what would be the guest room," Peter said, looking down at their joined hands, "and the room for the twins. At least until they're old enough to want their own."

Stiles felt hot tears spilling over, running down his cheeks, tears he couldn't keep in check no matter how much he fought them.

Peter turned his whole body to look at him, leaning against the counter to feign nonchalance, his voice taking on a forced softness. "And there's your room, of course. And the other two bedrooms, I'm still working on. I don't know if Scott and Derek would want their own rooms or if they'd want to share."

Stiles' head whipped up to see Peter's expectant smile, his eyes soft and hopeful.

"You're serious?"

Peter dried Stiles' cheek with his thumb before taking Stiles' other hand, holding both between them. "You would always be welcome in your own home, Stiles. As would your family." Then he shrugged. "It's not like you'll all fit in your father's place."

"My own home?" Stiles said. "What does that--?"

Peter released Stiles' hands in order to remove a folded stack of papers from a pocket inside his coat. Unfolding them, Stiles could tell it was a contract of some sort, and when Peter handed them over, he read the word "Deed" at the top and nearly stopped breathing. Especially when he saw whose name was on the paperwork.

"You bought me a house?!?"

"If you don't want to live in San Francisco, you can always sell it and live somewhere else," Peter said.

"You _bought me a house_ ," Stiles repeated vehemently. "What about-- Are you staying in Beacon Hills then? Or is yours the one next door? Don't tell me you bought two houses."

Peter chuckled. "No, I only bought the one house. I still have the apartment in Beacon Hills."

"You're crazy," Stiles said, "you know that, right?"

"I've been told as much," Peter replied.

Stiles put his arms around Peter in the best hug he could muster. "I can't believe you bought me a fucking house."

Peter returned the hug, not letting go until Stiles prompted him to. Even then they remained in each other's space, close in a way they normally didn't allow of each other.

And then Stiles kissed Peter, a hesitant pressing of his lips, his hands holding tight to Peter as if he might float off the ground if he didn't tether himself somehow.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have--" Stiles stepped back, sideways, putting distance between them. "Not that I didn't want to, it's just--"

"Derek and Scott," Peter said, understanding.

Stiles didn't want him to understand. He wanted Peter to do something, say something, _anything_ , to fight his way into Stiles' life, the way they both wanted but were too afraid to face.

But he also didn't want to hurt Derek or Scott that way.

Tentatively, he reached for Peter's hand where it rested on the counter. When Peter didn't pull away, he dared to meet his eyes, but when he looked up, Peter's attention was unwavering.

"Stiles?"

At the cautious note in Peter's voice, Stiles followed Peter's gaze down to their joined hands. Black veins stood out on Peter's arm, faint at first and then prominent with the growing pain he was taking from Stiles. But Stiles hadn't noticed any pain.

He pulled his hand away and immediately doubled over, crying out as pain shot through his stomach like a bullet.

"Stiles!" Peter caught him as he dropped to the floor.

The pain ebbed as Peter touched him, siphoning some of it off. He watched Peter's eyes roll upward. "Peter?"

"Something's wrong," Peter stated. "We have to get you back to Beacon Hills. Now."

When Peter stopped taking the pain so he could carry him out of the house and to the car, Stiles felt a wave of nausea overcome him. It felt like something in him was being ripped apart. Peter picked him up, and Stiles noticed blood on the floor where he'd just been standing; on the way out the door, little droplets dotted the yellow tile and the ground as it leaked through the back of his pants. On instinct, he bit down on Peter's shoulder to keep from screaming.

"I'm sorry," Peter said, then repeated it. "I'm sorry, I can't take the pain because I'll have to focus to drive."

Stiles let out a groan, mumbling out the words, "s'fine, just get me there."

In the car, Stiles tried to focus on something besides the pain, but nothing held his attention. He kept thinking how something was wrong, Peter's words replaying in his head, and he hoped they'd make it to Deaton's in time. He gripped the door handle so tightly he thought he might break it, and if he'd had Peter's werewolf strength, he surely would have.

He felt the car accelerate once they hit the freeway, but couldn't see the speedometer without moving more than he should. It was easily nearing ninety, he thought. The seat beneath him was red, and Peter's hands on the steering wheel were, too; in fact, there was red everywhere. Had he really lost so much blood already? The very thought made him dizzy, light-headed as if he might pass out. Or maybe that was the blood loss doing it.

"Stiles?" he heard Peter shout beside him. "Stay with me, Stiles!"

Peter's hand found his, and some of the pain faded, and then everything went black.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Deaton works to stabilize Stiles' condition, Scott initiates a truce with Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late and a dollar short.... but here's the follow-up to last week's cliffhanger.

Peter carried Stiles inside. He'd barely thrown the Navigator into park as Deaton rushed out to the car; while the emissary opened the door and unfastened Stiles' seat belt, Peter all but leapt over the vehicle in his haste to get Stiles into the clinic.

"How long has he been unconscious?" Deaton asked, his words hurried.

"He's been in and out the whole ride," Peter replied.

"Lucid?"

"He mumbled a few things I couldn't make out, so I don't think so," Peter said, following Deaton as he swung open the mountain ash partition and led him to the main examining area.

Scott was waiting inside, wearing scrubs and gloves, turning dials on the two incubators that were set up along the wall. He turned as soon Peter entered, his eyes going wide. "Stiles?" he murmured, hurrying to assist Peter.

"Set him down on the gurney," Deaton said.

Beside the gurney was a tray of instruments. Deaton picked up the first of a series of prepped syringes and poked the needle into Stiles' bicep, releasing its contents into the boy's bloodstream.

"What'll that do?" Peter asked.

"It should halt early labor," Deaton said, putting down the first syringe for a second. "Get his shoes and jeans off."

Peter hesitated, but only for a second and then he helped Scott undress him; as he bundled up the jeans, the tacky denim stuck to his fingers from all the blood. He glanced around the room, trying to figure out what to do with them, and his vision started to blur.

"He's lost a lot of blood," he heard Deaton tell Scott; the vet's voice echoed in his ears. 

Peter shook his head, locating a bin for dirty scrubs and chucking the jeans in there.

"Peter? Go outside," Deaton commanded calmly.

Scott came around the gurney and gave Peter a hopeful smile. "We've got him," he said.

Much later, Peter would remember this moment and realize Scott had spoken with his alpha voice.

Peter gave a weak nod, and soon he was stumbling back through the front doors of the clinic, turning to the bushes along the wall and vomiting.

\----------

He was still outside, leaning on that wall with both hands pressed flat against the wood when Scott came outside and stood near him. He was still dressed in scrubs, but his gloves were off.

"D'you know your car is still running?" Scott asked.

"I'd noticed," Peter replied, with little of the vehemence he'd normally use when asked such an asinine question.

Without asking, Scott walked around the vehicle to the driver's side. A few seconds later and the engine died down. Scott was gone a good moment - likely staring at the evidence of the terrible event that brought them both to this same place.

When he finally returned, his voice was tentative. "Are you okay?" he asked, stopping a few paces away from Peter.

Peter gave a silent nod, but Scott moved closer. He flinched as his former beta touched his arm, pulling out some of the ache buried deep in his chest. It was a gesture of gratitude, he realized. If it hadn't been for Peter, Stiles might have lost one of the twins - or worse.

"Come inside," Scott told him. "You should sit."

Peter wavered, but after a moment's hesitation, he caved, nodding as he allowed Scott to lead him back into the clinic. He sat in the waiting area at Scott's direction, staying there while Scott disappeared for a second. The alpha returned to Peter with a bottle of water in hand, offering it after removing the cap.

Peter wordlessly took the water from Scott and drank a few sips before downing half the bottle, desperate to rid his mouth of the wretched taste of bile that clung to his tongue.

"I'm gonna check on Stiles," Scott told him, and then Peter was alone again.

He dipped his head, rubbing his tired eyes with his free hand. He felt drained, most of which was due to the pain he'd taken from Stiles. It had been nearly unbearable for Peter; he could only guess at how bad it had been for Stiles to experience. It was no wonder he'd passed out on the drive back.

The rest of his exhaustion was due to the fear that he wouldn't get Stiles to Deaton's in time. Peter was prepared to protect Stiles no matter the cost, but this had been something he couldn't fight. It was a purely biological complication, and Peter knew he'd no longer be able to rest until the babies were born, healthy and safe.

Until _Stiles_ was healthy and safe.

Scott returned to the waiting area, surprising Peter again by sitting down right next to him, despite the other free chairs.

"He's still in dangerous territory, but Stiles should be fine," Scott told him. "Deaton said it was early labor. One of the placentas detached... That's why there was all the blood."

"And the twins?" Peter said.

"Deaton found both heartbeats on the ultrasound," Scott replied. "They're fighting hard."

"So what happens next?"

"If we can keep Stiles stabilized for a couple more weeks, to week twenty-eight, that'll be really good," Scott said.

Peter threw a wary glance Scott's way. Their eyes met briefly, with no trace of the former animosity that had always bristled between them before. For once, they had a common cause, one that would require them to work together instead of butt heads.

"There is something else," Scott said, swallowing thickly. "Stiles needed a transfusion."

Peter sat up a little straighter, waiting for the shoe to drop.

"Fortunately, Deaton had some O-negative stored in the clinic just for Stiles."

"That is rather fortunate," Peter said.

"Weird thing is, after the first bag? I noticed Stiles started to smell a lot like you," Scott continued.

"He has been living with me," Peter told the young alpha, as if he needed reminding. "It was bound to happen."

For some reason, Peter found himself preparing to bolt if Scott managed to put two and two together, though he wasn't sure why he still wanted to keep all these secrets. Perhaps it was because he'd always dealt in secrets and knowledge, and he recognized their value, their power. It would be unwise to give such power to someone else, especially another alpha. And while anyone else might underestimate the boy's intelligence, Peter knew better; despite their philosophical differences, Peter knew Scott was no idiot.

He didn't give the bite to just anyone, after all.

"I know you care about Stiles," Scott said. "That's been pretty obvious for a while now. Come to find out, you've been caring for him in ways that I can't. Maybe in ways that Derek can't either."

"Derek has just as much money as I do," Peter told him.

"But is Derek O-negative?"

Peter stood, pacing a moment, then stopped with his back to Scott, leaning against the reception counter. "I don't know."

"I think you do," Scott said, speaking softly. "Or you'd have told him to come in and give blood for Deaton to stockpile. Like you've been doing."

Peter let out a sigh. If Scott knew about the blood, he probably knew about the equipment purchases, too. Of course, it was dumb to think he would never find out; he damn well worked there.

When Peter had come to the clinic weeks before, it wasn't just to make sure Deaton would order the things necessary for Stiles' delivery. While looking through Deaton's file on the boy, Peter found the information he'd been planning to get out of Deaton somehow, and that was Stiles' blood type: B-negative. Which meant that Peter could provide blood for the clinic, should Stiles need it, but Derek couldn't. Further investigation over the next few days indicated that no one else could either, except perhaps Malia, who'd had no medical records he could hack into. Scott and his mother were no match, neither were Lydia and Kira; the boy's own father wouldn't even be able to give blood should Stiles need it.

"Derek... is AB-positive," Peter finally said.

When he turned to look at Scott, he was expecting... Well, he wasn't sure what, but it wasn't the studying, curious look in his eyes that Peter found.

"Does Stiles know about this?"

Peter shook his head. "No. And I asked Deaton not to tell."

"Why wouldn't you want to tell him?"

"Because he hated me," Peter said, too tired to even lie about it anymore. "And then he saved my life anyway. I owed him something."

"Peter," Scott said as he stood. "He'd want to know about this. And he deserves to know."

"You're planning on telling him when he wakes?"

Scott took in a deep breath, his next words coming out a little shaky. "We came too close to losing him tonight."

Peter assumed Scott meant himself and Derek, or the pack in general, when Scott said _we_ , so he didn't reply.

"We didn't though," Scott continued. "And Stiles deserves to know you saved his life."

Peter thought on it a moment, then said, "When he's able to leave this place, I'll tell him."

"Good," Scott said, and he smiled a little.

It was the first time Peter had ever seen Scott smile - the first genuine smile, and it was directed at Peter himself.

It was kind of weird.

"Also, Stiles doesn't hate you," Scott said.

"I managed to pick up on that," Peter said. "But you can't deny that it's a recent development."

"Not that recent," Scott said with a shrug. Then his expression shifted, his brow knitting in confusion as he seemed to remember something. "Can I ask... Did you really want me to kill you in Mexico?"

Peter shook his head. "Let's save some mysteries for later. You've learned enough for one night."

"Fair enough." Scott hooked a thumb backward, pointing outside. "I have to run out for a few minutes. I don't want Stiles to be alone when he wakes though. You should sit with him."

With narrow eyes, Peter studied Scott, waiting for him to reveal the catch in his offer.

"It'll help," Scott added, as if Peter needed to hear it. Then his eyes dropped, scanning Peter's bloodied clothes. "And ask Deaton for a pair of scrubs. If you wanna change."

He looked down at himself, nodding. It'd be good to get the smell of decaying blood out of his nose. "Shall I relay any message," he offered, "if he wakes before you return?"

Scott's mouth twitched upward, minutely, almost too small a movement to be noticed. "Just that he's gonna be okay. So will the twins."

\----------

Outside the clinic, Scott pulled Peter's keyring from his pocket and climbed into the large black SUV. The overwhelming scent of Stiles' blood was almost enough to choke him, but he got the windows down quickly, and that helped a little.

Pulling out of the parking lot, Scott dialed Derek's number, waiting for him to pick up.

 _"Any news?"_ Derek said upon answering.

"Stiles is stable for now," Scott said. "Listen--how far out are you?"

 _"Ten minutes,"_ Derek said. _"Fifteen, tops. Why?"_

"I want you to meet me somewhere else. We need to talk about something."

The other end of the line was quiet a moment, Derek's steady breathing punctuated with a sigh. _"Okay. Where do you wanna meet?"_

"The car wash," Scott said.

_"Why there?"_

Scott shrugged, the gesture lost on Derek. "It's just something I need to do. I'll explain it in person."

 _"All right,"_ Derek relented.

The car wash came into view on the left side of the road, and Scott hung up and texted Derek the address as he pulled into an empty bay. All the bays were empty, in fact, for which Scott was grateful. He didn't really want to explain a bloody car to anyone.

He parked and got out, sitting against the back bumper as he waited for Derek to arrive.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek helps Scott clean Peter's car while they discuss a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Stiles will be conscious for the next chapter!

By the time Derek arrived at the car wash, Scott had moved away from the vehicle, unable to stomach the smell anymore. It wasn't just that it was Stiles' blood; he could smell faint traces of the twins, too, and the more he picked up on the nuance, the more it freaked him out.

Scott paused in his pacing near the entrance as Derek parked and got out, looking from Scott to the Lincoln Navigator awaiting its thorough cleaning. He saw the passenger door to the Toyota open and Braeden stepped out, but she leaned against the side of Derek's SUV rather than follow Derek over.

"You know we can't clean this here, right?" Derek said.

"What do you mean? It's a car wash."

"For exteriors," Derek informed him. "The inside is going to need bleach and carpet cleaner."

"Oh." Scott took about three seconds to feel like an idiot and then shrugged. "I own a bike, so..."

"There's an abandoned detail shop downtown," Derek offered. "We could head there."

Scott wrinkled his nose at the thought of driving around with all that blood again. But he was determined to do this, not only for Peter but for Stiles, so he met Derek's eyes and gave him a nod. "Okay."

Once on the road, Scott followed behind Derek into the city proper. 

At the detail shop, Derek parked in the street. Braeden jumped out and cut the lock on the garage door nearest the shop's front door, gesturing for Scott to pull the Navigator inside.

They set to work quietly, Derek showing Scott what to do rather than tell him, overly cautious now that they were in a poorly guarded section of town. It would have been the perfect spot for such an activity, if they had been regular criminals; but the fact that they were werewolves made them open game as far as hunters and rogue omegas were concerned - if something happened to them out there, their bodies likely wouldn't be found for days, if not weeks. Braeden offered to keep watch outside, hopeful she'd catch sight of the alpha or, better yet, the Desert Wolf, should either of them decide to turn up.

Scott hoped differently. He didn't want anyone coming around until they were _all_ ready for the fight.

The night wore on, however, and not a sound out of place was heard by either of the werewolves. The bleach was a horrible smell, but it was better than smelling the blood, so Scott remained vigorous in his cleaning efforts.

"So how's the search going?" Scott asked, his voice soft as he worked a particularly stubborn stain out of the carpet.

Derek shook his head, glancing up from his scrubbing of the driver's seat. "The Desert Wolf knows how to hide," he said, low enough only Scott would hear. "I'm thinking we need a new tactic."

"What kind of tactic?"

"Bait."

Scott's eyebrows shot up. "No. We are not using Stiles to lure the Desert Wolf out of hiding. Are you--" Scott calmed himself, aware his voice was rising. When he spoke again, it was a forceful whisper. "Are you _serious_?"

"I'm not talking about using Stiles," Derek said. He drew in a deep breath, shaking his head at what he was about to suggest. "I'm talking about you."

"Me? How would that help?"

"Chris said the alpha was originally after _your_ blood," Derek said. "If you offer it to him freely, in exchange for Stiles' safety--"

"He'll kill me," Scott protested.

"We wouldn't let that happen," Derek said, his tone firm. "It's a trap, Scott. That's why it's called 'bait'."

Scott sighed. "I know you wouldn't. It's just-- We don't know how dangerous this alpha is! What if he gets to Stiles somehow while we're trying to trap the Desert Wolf?"

Derek nodded, wheels turning in his head. "Stiles is at the clinic right now," he said. "The clinic is protected by mountain ash. Neither of them would be able to enter. I'm sure the others would fight with us. Even Peter."

"No," Scott whispered, his tone firm. "Peter stays with Stiles."

Derek's eyebrows went up. "Are you sure about that?"

Scott only gave a nod.

"You do remember he had a relationship with the Desert Wolf at one point?"

"A relationship he doesn't remember," Scott replied, thinking how much he sounded like Stiles right then, arguing the case for Peter Hale.

Derek's eyes narrowed on Scott. "So he says."

"You don't believe him?"

"I don't _trust_ him," Derek said, anger coloring his face. "I'm surprised that you suddenly do."

"You didn't see him at the clinic," Scott said softly.

"He shouldn't have taken Stiles that far out to begin with," Derek snapped, a little too loud. Immediately, he stepped back from the SUV, out of Scott's line of sight.

"Stiles wanted to go," Scott replied. He knew Derek would hear the quiet words.

"And it had to be with Peter, of all people," Derek said just as quietly.

"Derek." Scott pulled off his yellow gloves and marched around the vehicle. "I know you've seen it. Peter cares about him."

"What is your problem, Scott?" Derek asked, putting as much vehemence into his voice as possible without shouting. "You know what he's done."

"My problem is you're making this about you, about the things that Peter has done to you," Scott replied. "I'm trying to keep it about Stiles."

"Because you're so sure Peter is being just as considerate?"

Scott felt his calm receding. He knew that Derek had seen the way Peter revolved around Stiles these days, how Stiles responded to it. And now that Scott had seen Peter's near-breakdown at the prospect of losing Stiles, Scott knew it was right to begin trusting him.

"Stiles could've died tonight, okay? But Deaton had Peter's blood already there, ready to go," Scott said. At this news, Derek's scent changed; his anger slowly succumbed to surprise. Scott continued. "Peter's been helping Stiles from the start. He's been doing things for him - things that we didn't think to do, things we _can't_ do, and all without Stiles knowing about it. Without _us_ knowing about it."

As Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, Scott thought his words might have reached him.

"So no," Scott said, taming his emotions. "I don't think Peter's making everything about himself right now." He stepped closer to Derek. "He would give his life to protect Stiles. I'm sure of that."

Derek sighed, meeting Scott's eyes. "If you really think Stiles will be safe with him, then I'll go with it. On one condition."

"Which is?"

"Peter needs to remember what happened with the Desert Wolf," Derek said. He took Scott's hand and triggered his claws to extend. "And you need to help him do it."


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up, and the alpha pays a visit.

When Stiles woke the first time, it was like walking through a fog. He fought an exceptional level of drowsiness to find Peter sitting beside him, holding his hand, waiting patiently for Stiles to open his eyes. His first, immediate thought was that he was safe. Then he realized he was at Deaton's and his anxiety level shot up, a mechanical beeping near his head speeding up erratically.

"Stiles?" Peter stood quickly and put a calming hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"What happened? Are they okay?" he tried saying, but the words came out garbled thanks to the sedative. He looked down to see his still rounded stomach and felt the air punch out of him in a gasp.

Luckily Peter understood him anyway.

"You're fine, Stiles," he said. "The babies are fine. Just relax. You're safe, okay?"

Stiles nodded and settled back against the pillow beneath his head, gathering himself and slowing his breathing.

"What happened?"

"I can go get Deaton," Peter suggested.

He started to turn, but Stiles tugged on his hand, pulling him back.

"Don't go." Stiles hated the sound of panic in his voice, but he really didn't want to be left alone at the moment.

So Peter stayed, and he told Stiles what he knew. Although Stiles didn't like the idea of bed rest for two whole weeks, he would gladly do it for as long as needed.

Deaton came in shortly after and filled in the information Peter couldn't. He told Stiles it was possible they wouldn't be able to hold off labor for very long, so to help the twins survive an early birth, he'd administered a drug that would help their lungs mature more quickly; still, each day they could prolong the pregnancy would be better.

He was only awake for a few minutes before his eyelids felt heavy again, and soon he drifted back to sleep, Peter's hand clasped firmly in his.

\----------

After discussing with Deaton when they could get Stiles out of the clinic, Scott and Derek approached Peter in the main exam area. Derek elbowed Scott, a gentle nudge, and nodded to where Peter's hand held Stiles'.

"Peter?" Derek called to him.

Peter looked up, turning in his seat.

"Did you hear us come in?" Derek asked.

"I heard," Peter said. "Heard your talk with the vet, too."

"Peter, we need to know what you know about the Desert Wolf," Scott started. "And I don't mean what you remember. I'm talking about what you were made to forget."

Scott barely had the words out of his mouth and Peter said, "All right."

"All right?" Derek questioned. "Just like that?"

Peter sighed, scrubbing his face, watching Stiles as he continued to sleep off the sedative. They spoke quietly over him, none of them wanting Stiles out of their sight anymore if they could help it.

"Before I got Stiles here, I tried taking some of his pain," Peter said. "It was severe. It nearly knocked me off my feet."

Scott took Stiles' other hand at Peter's words.

"When you told me what had happened," Peter said, looking directly at Scott, "it felt like a confirmation. I may not have known the exact problem, but I knew something was wrong."

"But you got him here in time," Scott said. And because Derek was listening, he added, "You saved his life."

But Peter shook his head. "What I'm trying to tell you is... taking his pain triggered something like a memory."

"What kind of memory?" Derek asked.

"An old one," Peter said. "A buried one."

"Part of what Talia hid from you," Scott surmised.

"Precisely," Peter replied. "I think it's important. But you'll have to be careful. Last time you did this, I was on the outside helping you. There won't be anyone to help you navigate my mind."

Scott nodded. "I can do it."

"Are you sure?" Derek asked. "I can't help you either."

"Maybe it's time you learn," Peter said. After a moment's hesitation, he released Stiles' hand and walked around the gurney towards Scott. He put a hand on his shoulder and spun him so his back was to him and Derek. "Claws?"

Derek extended his claws as requested. Peter took his hand, aligning their tips with the vertabrae of Scott's neck.

"You want the claws to touch the brain stem," Peter said, "so you have to go around the spinal column. If you're using your right hand, you'll sink to the right of spine--the opposite with your left hand. Use your thumb to stabilize the neck, like so." He positioned Derek's thumb around the front of Scott's throat. "Of course, it's easier, once you know what you're doing, to come at it from the person's front, wrap the hand around and extend your claws into the neck. But when you're starting out, this way is best."

"Then why did you have Isaac sitting down?" Derek asked. "And why did you come at him from behind?"

"Because he's a bit taller than me," Peter said. "It was safer for him to be sitting down. And a bit awkward to come at someone from the front when they're seated."

"You had me sitting, too," Derek reminded him.

"No, _you_ had you sitting," Peter said.

"Okay, now show me," Scott said, spinning around. He looked expectantly from Derek to Peter, eager to get the task over and done with.

Derek turned around and Peter positioned Scott's hand the way he'd done with Derek's, repeating the instructions as he did.

"Remember how you did it with Stiles and Lydia?" Peter asked him.

"I remember."

"Good," Peter said. "It'll be just like that. Except I won't have a rogue fox spirit running around in my brain, trying to keep you from getting in."

"No, you'll just have blocks put in place by a very powerful alpha werewolf," Derek said, turning to face Scott. "Blocks that haven't been touched in almost two decades."

"Aw, you're worried about me," Peter said with a faint pout.

"Shut up," Derek said, almost reflexively.

"No fighting," Scott said.

"What's going on?" came a mumble from behind them all.

They turned to see Stiles waking again.

"Stiles?" Scott called to him. Taking Stiles' hand, Scott hovered protectively over him. Derek stayed by Scott's side as Peter walked back to Stiles' left, clutching the hand that reached out for him. Stiles gave his hand a squeeze.

Derek cupped Stiles' face. "Hey," he said quietly. "How you feelin'?"

Stiles groaned a bit, the sedative wearing off enough that he could feel the dull ache in his lower back again. Then he sighed. "I feel like I'm in the Wizard of Oz," Stiles said.

Scott's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Courage," Stiles said, lifting his hand and Scott's. Then he nodded to Derek and said, "Heart." Finally he turned his head to Peter and said, "Which means you must be the brains."

Peter smiled. "I'll try not to let it go to my head."

"And my little dogs are still in the basket," Stiles said, pulling his right hand free to palm his stomach.

"I guess that makes me the man behind the curtain?" Deaton said as he entered from his office.

"If it turns out I could've had these kids by clicking my heels three times, I'm gonna be pissed," Stiles said.

"I want you off your heels, remember?" Deaton replied.

Stiles nodded. "Sir, yes, sir." He thought about actually giving a salute, but then his hands were both occupied again as Peter and Derek each held one. Scott followed Deaton back out when the vet motioned for him to step away.

"We'll be taking you home soon," Peter said.

"Yeah?" Stiles smiled. He couldn't wait to be back in Peter's bed; the gurney wasn't very nice to his back.

"We're gonna take turns watching over you," Derek added. "You'll be safe."

"Deaton's going to put a mountain ash barrier around the house," Peter continued. "The only supernatural creatures inside will be the ones he or your father lets in."

"Wait," Stiles shook his head. "I'm going _home_ -home?"

"It's for the best," Derek said.

"I thought I'd go back to Peter's?"

Peter and Derek exchanged a look, one that told Stiles they'd already discussed this at some length, had already _agreed_ that Stiles wouldn't return to Peter's after this.

"What's going on?" Stiles asked.

It was Peter who answered. "You'll be at your father's house tonight," he said. "Scott's going to try to... get at some of my memories. The ones Talia didn't want me to keep."

"And after that?" Stiles said.

"We'll see about it, but Deaton doesn't want you moving too much," Derek said. "In the meantime, we've got a plan: we're gonna try to catch the alpha that planted the Lotus snare."

"I'll be by as soon as Scott's recovered my memories," Peter assured him. "It shouldn't be long."

"How are you gonna to catch the alpha?"

"Offer him something he wants," Derek said.

"He wants my kids," Stiles scoffed. "I know you aren't planning on offering that."

"That wasn't the first thing he wanted," Peter replied. "He planted the snare to get to Scott."

"The blood of a true alpha fetches a high price," Derek said.

"You're using _Scott_?!"

"Stiles, please," Peter said as he stood. "You need to keep your heart rate down."

"I don't like this idea," Stiles protested. "This alpha is dangerous, Peter--he's been in my _dreams_."

Derek's head whipped up to glare at Peter. "What the hell is he talking about?"

"We don't know for sure if it's what it is," Peter said, "but it could be an etheric cord."

"Those are a myth!" Derek shouted.

Scott returned to the room with Deaton. He carried a small white box with a red cross on the top, which he set down on a cleared off lab bench.

"Actually," Deaton said, "they aren't a myth. They're just temporary in their common form. They're quite rare in their permanent form. Generally, this creates confusion as to their status as fact or myth."

"What's an etheric cord?" Scott asked.

"Whenever a werewolf--or any supernatural creature--touches another person, whether or not they're human, they form a temporary bond for the duration of the contact," Deaton explained. "Through this bond, energy can pass from one to the other."

Scott nodded. "You're talking about taking someone's pain?"

"That's only one thing that can happen within such a bond," Deaton replied. "Taking pain, giving the spark of life to another--rare only because so few are willing to give up the power to do it."

As if on cue, Scott, Stiles and Peter all turned eyes to Derek.

"But there are deeper connections," Deaton continued, "and some of them are very hard to sever. Permanent etheric cords are created only in the presence of great magic or the exertion of some supernatural power."

"So what created the one between Stiles and the twins?" Peter asked.

"If that's what it is," Derek added.

"It's hard to say," Deaton replied. "The Lotus snare, on its own, doesn't contain magical properties. The proximity of the Nemeton may have influenced it. Scott's status as a true alpha, or even the fact that you were... _intimate_... with three supernatural creatures in quick succession, may have also had an effect."

"So if it's _not_ an etheric cord," Derek interrupted, "could the alpha really be inside Stiles' dreams? Without us knowing about it?"

Deaton frowned. "It's a possibility we should consider."

There was a crash outside, drawing everyone's attention to the back door.

"Cat in the dumpster again?" Scott asked.

Deaton headed for the door and put his ear to it. Scott followed suit.

"Do you hear anything?" Deaton asked.

Scott shook his head, so Deaton pressed the push bar in and opened the door, peeking outside.

"See anything?" Derek called to them, stepping over. Peter stayed by Stiles' side, slowly extending his claws to ready himself for a fight.

Suddenly Deaton came flying backwards through the door, crashing into a tray of medical instruments, crumpling to the floor when he landed.

"Deaton!" Scott shouted. He inched towards the vet but stopped himself immediately, putting himself in the doorway to block it.

Looking out through the morning mist, he tried to see if anyone was there, but the alleyway behind the clinic was empty.

The swinging door that blocked off the exam area from the reception desk swung open then, and the alpha entered. Peter recognized him from Stiles' description, Stiles from his own nightmares, and Derek from Peter's drawing.

"How the hell did you get in here?" Derek shouted, claws and fangs both out now. Scott quickly put himself between Stiles and their new foe.

"I know a few tricks," the alpha said. He glanced down at the unconscious emissary and gave a disappointed click of his tongue. "Nomadic creatures are often far more resourceful than their stationary counterparts."

"You're not taking Stiles," Scott said. "Or me."

"I'm not here to take anyone," the alpha said. "At least not yet. I'm only here to ensure that my merchandise survived the return trip from San Francisco."

"Merchandise?" Derek spat.

"I have a buyer already lined up for the child," the alpha replied. "And I like to get paid." He cocked his head, inclining an ear towards Stiles. After a few seconds, he smiled. "And it sounds like they're both doing just fine."

Peter snarled, and the alpha took a step back.

"If the Desert Wolf wants them, she'll have to come through me."

"Through all of us, actually," Scott said.

The alpha stared blankly at Peter a moment, his eyes calculating. Then he chuckled. "I forgot how much Talia liked to mess with the minds of those in her pack."

"What does that mean?"

The alpha shook his head. "You have an alpha here who can return your memory to you, if you really want it back. But I should tell you... you may not like what you find."

"How do you know about that?" Peter asked, taking a step forward. Derek reached out to stop him from doing anything.

"Because I was there," the alpha replied. "Many moons ago, when Talia was still in a negotiating sort of mood with regards to rival packs in surrounding territories. We had a significant difference of opinion, and the treaty we were discussing fell through. I think... she blamed you for that."

"Why would she blame Peter for a difference of opinion?" Scott asked.

"Because of his relationship to me," the alpha replied, shrugging as if it couldn't have been helped.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Derek growled.

"Look at his memories," the alpha said, pointing to Peter as he retreated back through the open door. "All the answers are there."

Scott hurried to shut the back door after the alpha left, then he helped Derek with Deaton.

As Deaton came around, Derek caught Scott's eye. "We have a problem."

"Problem?" Deaton asked.

"Mountain ash won't stop him," Derek said. "Leaving Stiles with his father isn't going to work."

"Then we'll all go," Peter said. "The whole pack. Scott can unblock my memories there."

"Are you sure about that?" Scott asked.

"It may be the only way to ensure Stiles is safe."

"I'll call Chris," Derek offered. "He might have some ideas on how to fortify the place."

"My mom gets off work soon," Scott said. "I'll see if she can watch over Stiles for a couple of hours."

Deaton managed to walk to the front door under his own steam, where he pulled down the "Open/Closed" sign. From a drawer behind the reception area, he pulled out another sign and hung it up, making sure to lock the door.

Peter carried Stiles outside, who noticed his hesitation when he saw Derek was leading him to the Navigator.

"Come on," Derek called to him. He opened the back door and they were greeted by a clean interior. Stiles smiled faintly.

As they left the parking lot, Peter glanced back to the clinic. The sign on the door read, "CLOSED: Due to Family Emergency".


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Peter's memories are revealed, Peter, Scott, and Derek share a revelation about the alpha and the Desert Wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting 25 chapters to write this one. *bites nails* Hope everyone enjoys it!

Scott mentally catalogued their fortifications while he waited for Derek in the Stilinski living room. Peter sat on the couch, hunched forward, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of what was to come.

Malia and Braeden were guarding the back door; Scott figured she wanted to take the opportunity to grill the former Marshall about the Desert Wolf. Kira held down the front with the Sheriff while Isaac, Chris, and Allison patrolled the exterior. Isaac tried to convince Derek to let him watch Scott probe Peter's brain, but Derek very firmly told him that wasn't going to happen.

Outside, Lydia was helping Deaton with a special barrier, made of a mix of mountain ash, wolfsbane, and shavings of silver. Stiles was in his room, Melissa keeping watch over him.

Scott felt good about the people surrounding him, but hated the reasons for all of them having to be there.

He sat in a chair facing Peter, unsure of how to calm the anxious werewolf, thinking it ironic that he could so easily perform this procedure on others but feared it being to done to him. Of course, with someone who's never done it before (or who's only done it once), it made sense to be afraid. Going into someone else's mind was fraught with potential dangers and complications, not the least of which was possibly killing your subject, or paralyzing them. Scott thought about how Peter had already been trapped in his body once before, and he understood.

Standing and walking around the coffee table, Scott sat down next to Peter and put a hand over Peter's to calm them. Then he leeched out some of his anxiety, drawing in a sharp breath as it nearly overwhelmed him.

Peter's whole body went still. He stared at Scott's hand over his and frowned, a small measure of sorrow in his eyes.

"I won't hurt you, Peter," Scott told him. "Just like I didn't hurt Stiles and Lydia."

Peter pulled one of his hands free and placed it over Scott's.

"No one's done this to me since Talia," he said quietly.

And what Scott thought he understood before, he realized by Peter's statement that he was wrong. It wasn't paralyzation or death he feared, it was someone else messing with his memories the way Talia had. Scott found himself wondering what Peter was like before he'd been changed by his sister, his own alpha; he was very likely about to find out, if he could get past the mental blocks without incident.

"Everyone's set," Derek called to them, entering from the kitchen.

Scott stood, taking his place behind the couch, and extended his claws.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Peter leaned back, tipping his head forward slightly to present his neck to Scott.

Scott gulped at the offering, the alpha part of him recognizing it as an act of submission.

Lining the tips of his claws the way Peter showed him, Scott put his other hand on Peter's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Then he pierced Peter's skin, pushing past muscle and bone, and shut his eyes as Peter's mind linked with his.

\----------

He was in the Preserve; everything was bright and green, the sunlight catching on the leaves overhead. Scott heard laughter in the distance and walked towards it.

A small clearing opened before him and there he saw three people: a young man of about eighteen and two children, a girl of ten and a boy of six. The young man was chasing them in turn, until the boy clambered up the young man's back.

"I got you!" the boy shouted.

"Oh, no!" the young man cried, pretending to be defeated as he dropped to his knees. "Derek, you win. I give up!"

Scott assumed then that the young man was Peter.

Then Derek and Peter both looked up when they heard the girl let out a gasp. Following their gaze, Scott saw an animal approaching them, taking slow steps with its head down, eyes up. A predator on the prowl.

"Uncle Peter!" Derek shouted. "It's a wolf!"

"No, I think that's a coyote," the younger Peter said. Scott noted how his body stilled, how he was so animated just a moment before and immediately moved into protective mode as soon as he spotted the coyote on their territory.

The coyote's eyes briefly flashed yellow at them, and Laura squealed in delight. "He's a were, Uncle Peter!"

"Yeah," Peter agreed, not taking his eyes off the coyote. He held a little more firmly to Derek's legs and called to the girl. "Come on, Laura, let's go back. We need to tell your mom about the coyote."

"Do you think she'll invite him to the council?"

"I don't know," Peter said, pushing Laura to walk in front of him. He swung Derek around to his hip, looking back once.

The coyote watched them, but didn't follow.

"I hope not," Peter added.

Scott walked after them, glancing once at the coyote; the Desert Wolf in her transformed state? Or one of her pack members?

As they approached the Hale house, Scott spotted Talia waiting for them at the top of the porch steps. When he set his eyes upon her, everything around him began to vibrate and shimmer, like convection waves rolling off hot pavement. Scott's eyes began to sting, and he strained to hear Peter's conversation with her.

"There was a coyote in the woods," he told her. "It's like us."

Talia's voice echoed through the trees. "He's passing through, Peter. Let it go."

Scott squinted against the heat in order to see, tried to shift so he could use his alpha sight, but nothing worked.

"Come on, Uncle Peter!" Laura shouted. "Let's go outside!"

The stinging sensation faded and Scott wiped his eyes dry. He saw Peter bounding out of the house after Derek and Laura, Talia stepping into the doorway to watch them go.

Scott followed, only to see the exact same scene he'd just witnessed replay itself. This time he watched for the coyote before Laura could point it out; he noticed nothing different, only the coyote's same slow approach and predatory gaze. He wondered just whom exactly he had in mind for his prey. Would he try to take and sell Talia's children, the way he wanted to do with the twins?

He heard Derek shout, watched Peter freeze again. His eyes met the coyote's, and that was when Scott saw something he'd missed the first time: the coyote scenting the air.

So Scott followed suit; he could smell Derek's excitement at seeing the coyote, Laura's curiosity, and Peter's apprehension. But he smelled something else. The coyote's scent.

This time it was Scott who froze in place. Even as Peter retreated with the kids, Scott stared the coyote down. As Peter faded into the background of the scene, the coyote faded as well, the trees and the ground, and Scott was whipped forward in the memory, to Peter standing outside the Hale house, Derek still on his hip as he approached Talia.

Peter set Derek down and again told Talia about the coyote; and again, she told him to let it go.

The heat stung Scott's eyes once more and he couldn't see, and suddenly he was back in the clearing, watching Peter playing with Derek and Laura.

Scott focused on the coyote. He doubted he'd be able to notice things that Peter hadn't, since it was Peter's memory he was exploring. Still, Scott figured there'd be things in Peter's subconscious that he hadn't acknowledged, and one of them might be the coyote's scent. What Scott smelled was a shifted scent, something fresh, something the coyote felt when Peter looked at it. Scott wanted to know what it was feeling just before that.

He watched and waited patiently, and then the coyote came into view, something of a blur as Peter hadn't really noticed it yet. But the scent was sharp and clear.

Scott shook his head. The coyote wasn't just hunting them; it was _calculating_. The coyote's scent shifted a fraction as it scanned the three individuals, displaying different levels of satisfaction.

Derek shouted, and Peter caught the coyote's gaze, and that's when the coyote's scent shifted strongly to indicate a state of arousal.

Scott felt almost knocked back by it; as strong as the scent was, Peter had to have noticed it. He took a step back, more anxious now to find out what happened next, but when he got to the Hale house and tried to speak to Talia over Peter, the memory only replayed itself again.

He was about to follow Peter back into the woods, but he paused, glancing back to Talia in the doorway.

Talia stared down at him, straight at him, frowning.

Scott walked back to the house. "You can see me, can't you?"

"You're an alpha," Talia said. She stepped onto the porch and folded her arms low over her chest. "Are you Peter's alpha?"

Scott shook his head. "I don't really know anymore." He shrugged. "It's complicated."

"You're trying to break the memory loop," Talia said. "I put it in place for a reason."

"I'm sure you did," Scott said. "But right now, we need to know what Peter knows. Someone I care about is in danger. Whatever happened to Peter, whatever you're trying to hide--it could help us keep him safe."

"Are you keeping Peter safe?"

"I'm trying to keep everyone safe, actually."

Talia tilted her head, measuring Scott's intentions with her gaze. "You won't like what you see."

"I'm aware of that." Scott bit his lip, hopeful that Talia would listen to him and help, a favor from one alpha to another.

"If this loop is broken," Talia warned him, "Peter's mind will be flooded with memories. It'll be confusing for him, but even moreso for you."

"Okay," Scott said. "I can handle a little confusion."

Talia raised an eyebrow as if to say, _Are you so sure?_

"Does he even want these memories back?"

"He does," Scott told him. "He's been trying to get them back since he woke up."

Talia nodded, as if she knew what that meant, but she couldn't possibly. Scott realized he was talking to a piece of Talia that didn't know of all the things that had happened in the last fifteen or more years--however long ago it was when she'd put this loop in place.

"There's only one way to break the loop," Talia said. "To create the loop, I forged something called an etheric cord between myself and Peter."

"Deaton told me about those," Scott said. "I have to break the cord to break the loop?"

Talia smiled then. "You know Alan Deaton?"

"Yeah, he's my boss," Scott said. "I work with him at the clinic."

"Good," Talia said, her position relaxing, as if this new bit of knowledge answered her remaining questions concerning Scott's character.

"So how do I cut the cord?"

"Only I can break it," Talia said. "Take Peter back to me."

"There's a problem with that," Scott said, frowning. "You were killed a few years ago."

"Hunters?"

"Kate Argent," Scott confirmed. "Then Peter was in a coma for six years and when he woke up, he went on a crazy revenge--" He stopped himself. This wasn't why he was here. "Please. There has to be another way to break the cord."

"There's one way to do it, if I'm dead," Talia said. "You have to kill Peter."

"What?!"

"Not the real Peter," Talia quickly amended. "The Peter that's part of the loop. The one who lets the memory go."

"What if I kill the wrong one?"

"You have to decide if it's worth the risk," Talia said. "Reach into his chest and remove his heart. That'll sever the cord."

"And if you were still alive?" Scott asked, certain the information could prove useful. "How would you sever it then?"

"I would re-enter his mind, and tell him to remember," Talia said. With those words, she retreated back into the house.

Behind him, Scott heard Peter hurrying to the house, Derek and Laura babbling at him about the coyote. Talia came out to greet him and Scott had an idea.

He stood in the exact spot where Talia would stop. She hovered over him, wafting around him like a ghost, and as Peter took the steps up, depositing Derek to his feet, he told Talia about the coyote.

"He's just passing through," Talia said, her voice now a reverberation inside Scott's head. He gritted his teeth against the pounding in his skull as she spoke. "Let it go," she said.

Scott watched Peter's eyes, saw him nod as he chose to forget, but his scent remained the same: cautious and frightened.

Transforming to his wolf, Scott lunged forward, punching through Peter's chest with brute force, claws puncturing Peter's heart as he wrapped his fingers around it. He tugged hard, pulling the heart free, and Peter, his eyes wide, sunk to his knees. A thin line of blood trickled from his mouth as he listed sideways, rolling down the last few steps to the ground. His body was completely still.

"Peter?" Scott stared at his lifeless form, then down at the heart in his hand. The real Peter couldn't be dead, could he? Scott wouldn't still be here, right?

Before he could calculate his next move, the scenery changed and Scott was back in the clearing with Peter, Derek, and Laura, his hands clean and his claws put away.

This time, he followed anxiously behind Peter as they returned to the house, the coyote left behind, and when Peter walked up the steps, Scott went up with him.

"He's just passing through, Peter," Talia told him.

"Don't listen to her," Scott said. He put a hand on Peter's shoulder, and this time, memory-loop Peter turned his head and looked directly at Scott.

"Let it go," Talia said.

"Peter, listen to me. You're stuck in a memory loop. You're _choosing_ to forget something because of Talia's suggestion, but you don't want to forget. You want to remember."

"What do I want to remember?" Peter asked.

"What happens next," Scott said. "What happens with the coyote."

"Coyote?" Peter turned and looked deep into the woods. The coyote trotted out of the tree line into view, locking eyes with Peter. "The Desert Wolf," Peter said.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he dropped to his knees, clutching his head, shouting in pain. Scott tried to help him up, but before he could even touch Peter, he was sent flying back, everything around him going fuzzy like TV static. Peter's screams echoed around him, and then everything was silent.

Scott landed on the ground again, outside the Hale house, and it was night; in flashes, Scott saw Peter's memories return, flooding into his mind. He tried desperately to make sense of them all, but knew that he couldn't on his own. He saw Peter alone in the woods, the coyote approaching; saw a man significantly older than Peter and immediately recognized him as the alpha; saw the alpha touching Peter in intimate ways, Peter pushing back in some moments, giving in at others; saw Peter and Talia arguing about the coyote, the Desert Wolf.

Then came the memories that shocked Scott the most: Peter with a rounded stomach, heavily pregnant; the alpha looming over Peter where he was tied down in a darkened room; the feeling of ice in his veins as Peter went unconscious; waking in the clinic with Talia and Deaton beside him.

Scott watched it all go past, trying to make sense of it. Then Talia spoke. The memories slowed their inundation as Peter opened his eyes to see her face.

"Peter?" she said, taking her brother's hand. Scott stood at the foot of the table on which Peter lay. A sheet covered him, bloodied in the center.

"Where is she?" Peter demanded, despite his grogginess.

Scott noted that Peter's stomach was flat again, and he fumed inside as he thought about the alpha taking his child. Had it been a ploy from the start, the alpha and the Desert Wolf conspiring to create and then sell born wolves on the black market?

"She's safe," Talia said. "We've hidden her away so they can't find her. But you won't be able to see her again."

Peter turned his head away, sniffing hard. Scott tried to put a hand on one of Peter's feet, to offer him some comfort, but his hand passed right through anything he tried to touch.

"I want to forget," Peter whimpered. "Please, Talia. Make me forget."

"Peter..."

"That's a lot to ask," Deaton said calmly to Talia. "There may be too many memories to erase them all. It could drive him insane."

"I don't care," Peter said quietly. "I want to forget."

Talia placed her hand under Peter's neck. "I can hide the memories from you," she said, "instead of erasing them. But, over time, you'll wonder what's really there. If you ask me to, I'll reveal them."

"I'll never ask," Peter said. "Make me forget, Talia. Please."

Talia gave him a sorrowful nod. "I'm sorry about this, Peter."

Then she sunk her claws into his neck, holding her other hand over his chest to keep him steady. Peter gritted his teeth against her power, and Scott registered that something was pushing him out of the room, some unseen force tugging him out of the memory.

With a thud, Scott hit the wall in Stiles' living room, knocking frames off it and breaking glass. His claws slipped free from Peter's neck, causing Peter to slump forward.

"Peter?" Derek caught him, laying him out on the couch when he didn't respond. Blood trickled from Peter's mouth and his eyes were closed. Derek smacked his cheek a few times, trying to revive him.

"Is he alive?" Scott asked, hoisting himself off the floor. He leaned against the wall as he regained his balance.

"His heart's still beating," Derek said, "but he's out cold. What the hell happened in there?"

Scott shook his head. "There was too much to make heads or tails of it on my own," he said. "We'll have to wait for him to wake up."

"He went into a convulsion at one point," Derek said. "I was afraid it would kill you both."

"Talia created an etheric cord to keep a memory loop in place," Scott explained. "I had to break it to get past the loop."

Derek made sure Peter was in a comfortable position before helping Scott to a chair. Then, out of nowhere, he gripped Scott's face in his hands and planted a kiss on his lips. After a moment of shock, Scott returned the kiss, hands moving to Derek's hair to pull him in closer. For a second, they forgot everything else. When they finally parted, Derek touched his forehead to Scott's, hands moving down to his waist.

"What was that for?" Scott said, panting heavily.

"We can't lose Stiles," Derek said.

"I know that," Scott said. "And we won't."

"But I can't lose you either."

Derek pulled Scott close and held tightly to him, Scott melting into the embrace. Then he made room in the chair for Derek to sit as well, and they allowed themselves a few minutes' peace in each other's arms.

"Are you sure about them?" Derek asked.

Scott thought back to their conversation in the car after they left the detail shop; he knew that's what Derek was referring to, didn't even have to ask. They'd left their disagreement hanging in the air when they got to the clinic, forgotten for a time while they sorted out getting Stiles home and convincing Peter to let Scott into his mind. Then the alpha showed up and they went into emergency mode.

Now they were surrounded by pack, by people who had the skills to fight and protect the house from attack, so they took the breather when it was offered them.

Of course that would mean Derek would want to pick up where they left off.

"I was sure before," Scott said. "After seeing Peter's memories, I'm even more certain it's the right thing."

Derek inhaled slowly and said, "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"I trust you, Scott." He pressed a kiss to Scott's shoulder. "You know I do."

"I'll tell Stiles then," Scott replied. "You can talk to Peter."

Derek's hands roamed Scott's body, as if searching it for unseen wounds.

"I'm fine, Derek," he whispered, catching one of the errant hands, twining their fingers together.

At a groan from the couch, Scott extricated himself from Derek, but he did it slowly, still exhausted from his trek through Peter's brain. They both moved to help Peter sit up. Scott headed for the kitchen to grab water for himself and Peter.

When he returned, a very livid Peter paced behind the couch. Derek watched him, waiting for him to speak.

"We've been looking at it all wrong," Peter told them.

"Looking at what wrong?" Scott offered Peter the bottle of water, but Peter didn't even look at him.

"The Desert Wolf and the alpha," Peter explained.

"I saw them both in your memories."

"Not both," Peter said. " _Him_."

"What are you talking about?" Derek asked.

"The Desert Wolf isn't working with the alpha," Peter said, pausing in his anger. "The Desert Wolf _is_ the alpha."

"How is that possible?" Derek asked. "I thought the Desert Wolf was Malia's mother?"

"No, he's right," Scott said, his mind turning some of Peter's memories over anew. "Peter is Malia's mother--or, he's the one who carried her."

"Like Stiles?" Derek asked, eyebrows shooting up. "Is that why she hid your memories?"

"No, she hid the memories because I asked her to," Peter replied, leaning forward against the back of the couch. "The Desert Wolf approached me, he... One thing led to another, and he..."

"He knotted you," Scott said softly.

"Talia found out and..." Peter shook his head. "She nearly killed him. It wasn't until I was due that we learned why he'd done it."

"Let me guess," Derek interrupted. "Born wolves are worth a lot on the black market."

"Precisely."

"Although this one was a born coyote instead," Scott said. "Did that change his mind?"

"Hardly," Peter said. He hesitated, rubbing fingertips along his forehead. "He was about to cut her out of me. I managed to get away somehow and..." He paused, clearing his throat. He continued in a lowered voice. "Talia hid her away, and I begged her to wipe it all from my mind."

"So she did," Derek said.

"She objected to it at first," Peter said. "So did Deaton. But I think she realized it'd be better for both of us. For Malia, and for me."

"That was the memory Stiles' pain triggered," Scott said.

Peter fumed. "The pain of impending childbirth."

"Holy shit," Derek whispered, shaking his head.

"This changes things," Scott said. "What do we do from here?"

"We wait," Derek said. "He's not going to come for Stiles or the twins until they're ready to be born. So we wait."

"That's all we can do?" Scott said.

"No, it's not," Peter said, drawing himself up straight. "We can track him, we can find him, and we can _end_ him."


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day of quiet moments before the hunt begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere!!! Sorry for the delay on this one, hope you all enjoy. :)
> 
> (Anon commenting disabled for the 24 hours after posting this chapter.)

Almost as soon as Peter suggested they take the fight to the Desert Wolf, he leaned forward, gripping the back of the couch. Derek watched his eyes roll up, and he was by his uncle's side before he could hit the floor.

"Let me go," Peter said, trying to shake himself loose.

"You're exhausted," Derek said, hauling him around to the front of the couch and making him sit down.

"Having your brain touched by an alpha will do that," Peter snapped.

Scott frowned at him. "When's the last time you slept?"

Derek heard Peter's heart skip as he said, "I got an hour in at the clinic."

"Well, you can get a few more before sunrise," Derek said. "And _then_ we can talk about ending people."

"We don't have time for that," Peter said, pushing to his feet. "We have to find him first. Before he comes for Stiles."

He nearly toppled over again but caught himself on Scott's shoulder. Derek thought it would have been easy for any human to push him over again, and if this were only a few short weeks ago, Derek might've been tempted to do just that--or worse. But Scott caught Peter's wrist and gently encouraged him to stop moving. Peter glanced at the point of contact and all his eagerness deflated.

If Derek didn't know better, that single moment would tell him that Peter looked to Scott as his alpha--and that in return, Scott accepted him as pack.

Derek marveled a little at the simple exchange, at the difference in the way they now interacted with each other. And he marveled even more at Scott, who'd been the one to see the change in Peter taking place, and Derek fell in love with the true alpha a little more for it. 

As Scott guided Peter back to the couch, Derek thought briefly back to the kiss, to the blind need he'd felt right before he crashed their lips together, at the miraculous fact of Scott returning the kiss just as passionately and his own shock that Scott might have feelings for him in return. It hadn't been something he'd planned on doing, had barely considered it, and only then as an extension of what they shared with Stiles.

When Peter had gone into convulsions while Scott was in his mind, it had caused Scott's pulse to hit an unnaturally high rate, making Derek question whether this had been a good idea for either of them. There would be nothing he could do for them if things went south, and he didn't like being so powerless.

Especially where Scott was involved.

The very thought of losing Scott had hit him in the gut, and that was when he realized what he truly felt for him.

"I'm gonna go check on Stiles," Scott said to Peter as he pointed towards the stairs. Then he turned his eyes on Derek. "Stay with him for a minute?"

Derek nodded once, still a little lost in his own thoughts.

After Scott went up, Derek sat in the armchair, not directly facing Peter but where he could still easily watch over him. They sat quietly a few minutes, Peter rubbing at his temples and touching at the now-healed over spots on his neck where Scott's claws had entered him.

Derek watched him, in that moment fully aware of how unguarded his uncle had become over himself; he considered what Scott'd told him at the detail shop, how everything Peter had done in the last twelve hours had only been to serve Stiles, to _protect_ him, to save his life. How when it looked like he might not have succeeded, he'd come undone.

It was that kind of ardent concern and open affection that had caused Scott to come around about the three of them trying things out together, and Derek realized, while watching his uncle recover from a highly invasive mind link, that he was coming to the very same understanding about stepping out of the way if Stiles truly wanted something with Peter as well. Because Scott had been right. Since this whole thing with the Lotus snare started, Peter had only been good for Stiles. Likewise, Stiles had been good for Peter, in an entirely different way.

Derek stood and assumed a seat on the couch beside his uncle. Peter glanced up, inclined his head Derek's way, a quick motion like he thought he might need to defend himself.

"You should eat something," Derek said. He leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees.

"Did you have something in particular in mind?" Peter replied, closing his eyes and returning his attention to his head.

Derek focused an ear on Peter's heartbeat and frowned at what he heard; it was dangerously slow.

"Meat would be good," Derek said. "I'll ask Scott when he comes back down."

Peter said nothing more.

\----------

As soon as Scott opened the bedroom door, Melissa pulled her headphones off and hurried toward him, pulling him tightly into her arms.

"I'm okay, Mom," Scott said quietly, returning the hug.

"Even over the music, I heard," Melissa replied. She stepped back, putting both hands on Scott's face and looking him directly in the eye. "You're sure you're fine?"

"It was rough, but everyone's good," Scott answered. Then with a downward glance he added, "There were a couple of picture frames that didn't make it, though."

Melissa swatted at his arm lightly, and Scott smiled. Then he peered over her shoulder.

Stiles was sleeping, propped up on a mountain of pillows. Scott looked at all the things attached to him - an IV line in each hand and the thick bands of a fetal heart monitor affixed around his belly. Beside the bed was a metal stand holding clear plastic bags, the medications being intravenously pumped into his best friend. Stiles' nightstand had been cleared to hold the portable ultrasound and heart monitors. One of the screens showed two lines bouncing up and down, keeping separate rhythms - the heartbeats of the twins; the other screen showed Stiles' pulse, which Scott could hear clearly. He watched the line move in time with Stiles' heart, and considered shifting so he could hear the twins' heartbeats as well, but he figured he should save his energy.

"How is he?" Scott said, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"He's stable," Melissa replied. They walked towards the bed, and Scott sat on its edge, taking Stiles' hand with care not to disturb anything. He placed his other hand over the great swell of Stiles' belly, and started at the dual pulsing sensations against his palm. Straining his ears a little, without shifting to his wolf at all, he picked up a single faint heartbeat.

His mother must have noticed his expression change, because she resumed her seat and asked, "What is it?"

"A heartbeat," Scott said. "I can hear one of them now. Without shifting."

"That's probably Leia," Melissa said. "She's bigger than Luke now."

"Is that normal?"

"With twins, yes," Melissa replied. "But with the early labor, it could also mean that--"

"I know what it means," Scott said calmly.

It meant that Leia would likely survive a pre-term birth. It meant that Luke was fighting harder to stay alive. And after the placental detachment, it meant he might not survive the next two weeks at all.

Melissa rested a hand on Scott's shoulder. "I'll go check on Peter," she said, and she left the room, shutting the door gently behind her.

Stiles remained asleep, eyes closed and his own heart beating at a rhythm that indicated a restful slumber, for which Scott was grateful.

\----------

"Let me look you over," Melissa said.

Peter pulled his arm from her hand. "I'm fine."

"Humor me." Melissa's stern voice cut off any further argument.

Peter sighed and returned his wrist to her, wincing at her touch. He could smell concern coming off her in waves, and it bothered him - but not as much as the worry in his nephew's eyes. He would be able to hear Peter's slowed heartbeat the way Melissa only could with a stethoscope.

"Did that hurt?" Melissa asked. She pressed her fingers into his flesh again, taking his pulse.

Peter thought better of telling her "yes" only after he'd already said it.

The pressure from Melissa's fingers eased up; Peter didn't bother meeting Derek's eyes. He didn't want to see the pity likely to be there.

According to his returned memories, the last time Peter was on the receiving end of an alpha's mind link was when Talia erased his - after he'd asked her to. He'd forgotten how painful it could be, how exhausting the way it set every nerve on fire. It felt not unlike the blaze that had seared through his flesh nearly a decade before; briefly, he wondered if that was why it had taken him so long to heal, if the fourth degree burns he'd experienced then had jostled the loop Talia had set in place.

"I thought he should eat something," Derek said, jarring Peter into the present.

"That's a good idea," Melissa replied. "I'll see what's in the kitchen."

"Thanks."

Peter felt Derek's attention on him like a white hot fire. Ignoring his nephew once again, Peter leaned his head back against the couch, covering his eyes with one arm in a desperate attempt to ease his growing migraine.

"Gotta say..." Derek started quietly - and Peter heard the gulp before he continued - "it's kinda weird seeing you like this."

"It's weird _feeling_ like this," Peter mumbled. "I've never felt so disturbingly human."

A weak pressure touched Peter's other hand where it rested on his thigh. Peter jumped a little at the touch, but soon his headache faded and when he opened his eyes it was to the sight of black veins tensing Derek's whole arm.

"Why are you doing that?" He heard exasperation in his own voice.

"Because you need it," Derek replied through gritted teeth.

The receding pain, however, was replaced with a wave of nausea.

"Derek..." As quickly as he could manage in his state, Peter was on his feet, lurching clumsily toward the front door. With Derek's help, he made it outside, promptly vomiting over the porch railing. Derek provided him some stability when he threatened to list sideways before he finished.

"I hope Scott's in better shape than you are," the Sheriff said beside them, his tone laced with animosity.

Peter winced; he'd forgotten about the Sheriff being out there. Stiles' father smelled of acid and aggression. It stung Peter's nose to smell it and made him want to throw up all over again. He recoiled, side-stepping until Derek moved to stand between them.

Derek made a soft growl, deep in the back of his throat. It held the sharp note of a warning, which surprised Peter. He wasn't sure it was even in the Sheriff's hearing range, or if Derek had made the sound consciously, but he felt himself strengthen a bit, the old chord of _pack_ having been plucked by the utterance.

"Scott's fine," Derek said, his voice tight.

The Sheriff didn't seem to notice the affect he'd had on them in that moment, and Derek swallowed hard, probably an attempt to push down the pack instinct that had bubbled up unexpectedly inside him. The interaction had given Peter a touch of renewed strength, and he felt the nausea fade. How ironic that the Sheriff's hatred of him should have such an effect.

"That's good," the Sheriff replied. He seemed to ease at the news. "Where is he now?"

"Upstairs," Peter informed him. "With Stiles."

The Sheriff nodded, then his scent shifted as he looked down, frowning. The alacrity of guilt washed over Peter; he felt dizzy from it. But he kept watching Sheriff Stilinski until the man looked up, locking eyes with Peter himself.

"I want to thank you for what you did for him," he said, fighting with himself to get the words out.

Peter wasn't sure what to say; "you're welcome" seemed both too much and not enough. He hadn't done it for the Sheriff, after all, so it wasn't even an honest response. It was Stiles who was welcome to it.

Thinking he'd been done with the one sentence, Peter was surprised when, following a few moments of silence, the Sheriff added to his statement.

"You didn't just save his life," the Sheriff said. "You put yourself at risk to make sure he'll stay safe."

Stepping forward, the Sheriff offered his hand. Eyes wary, Peter took it and shook gently.

"Come on," Stilinski said, gesturing back to the house. "Let's get you off your feet."

Derek let Peter lean against him as they followed the Sheriff inside.

\----------

Stiles wanted to get out of bed; he hadn't been off his feet for a full day and already he was tired of it. Only problem was, he was tired in general, so if he did manage to get up he'd only have the strength to make it to the bathroom - which was just as well, since that was the only place he was allowed to go until the twins were born.

Melissa was there, watching over him, and the house was surrounded, protected, everyone he cared about there because of him. He wanted to feel guilty for it, but it was perhaps a parental instinct in him that made him solely grateful.

He didn't want to go to sleep, but the fatigue wasn't the only thing dragging him towards slumber; Deaton had set him up with the good drugs, and he couldn't keep his eyes open when he tried. As he slept, he dreamed hazy dreams of Peter and Derek and Scott, wisps of moments they'd shared clouded by the sedative. After what seemed mere minutes, he felt himself waking, felt his hand moving, then resting in someone else's palm.

Opening his eyes a peek, he squinted against the artificial light of his bedroom to find Scott sitting there beside him. Melissa no longer occupied the desk chair; in fact, they were the only two in the room.

"Hey, sleepy," Scott said softly.

Stiles scoffed at the hint of teasing in Scott's voice. "I'm'n drugs," he slurred. "Gimme a break."

"You feel okay?"

Stiles managed a nod. "How'd the thing go?"

Scott breathed in deeply, biting his bottom lip.

"That good, huh?"

"We learned some things," Scott said. "Important things. I think Peter will be able to help us fight the Desert Wolf with what he knows, when he's recovered a bit."

"Recovered?" Stiles' eyes widened as he tried to open them fully. He tried to sit up but Scott held him in place.

"He's okay," Scott said. "Just a little weak from the mind tap."

"Where is he?"

"Downstairs, with Derek," Scott replied. "My mom went down to make sure he's okay."

Stiles nodded, but the whole thing bothered him. Peter putting himself on the line like that was already out of character, especially as it involved letting Scott into his mind, but the fact that it weakened him - well, Stiles didn't like it. Peter was powerful, and it was a testament to Talia's strength that removing her barrier to his memories had wiped him out.

"Taking away the block brought him down a few pegs," Stiles thought aloud. "Maybe that's what the Desert Wolf wanted."

"It's temporary," Scott replied. "The knowledge it gave us isn't."

"Still shocked he let you," Stiles added. It wasn't a pointed question, but he knew Scott would get what he meant.

Scott sighed, holding Stiles' hand in both of his. "There are things I saw in Peter's mind that gave me a better understanding of-- well, of Peter. Who he is, and why." He met Stiles' expectant eyes. "But I can't share that with you. When Peter's ready to talk about it, he will."

"Talk about it?" Stiles repeated. He gestured to his huge belly. "He does know we're on a time crunch here?"

Scott frowned, brow knitted in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about catching the Desert Wolf," Stiles said. "What are _you_ talking about?"

With a gulp, Scott shook his head. "Never mind. You'll get it later."

Stiles squinted at his friend, trying to read what it was that had him speaking in some kind of code.

"There's something else I want to tell you," Scott said.

Sometimes Stiles wished he had werewolf senses; he couldn't read the expression on Scott's face to tell whether it was good news or bad. "Okay. What is it?"

"It's nothing bad," Scott quickly assured him. "Actually, we think it's a good thing."

"We?"

"Derek and I talked about it, after you came back from San Francisco."

"It's about Peter, isn't it?"

"Just hear me out?"

Stiles nodded. He could do that.

Scott inhaled deeply. "If it's something you want.... Derek and I want you to be with Peter."

Whatever Stiles might have expected Scott to say, it certainly wasn't that. His jaw dropped and he couldn't think of a single reply for a solid minute. Then he shook away the surprise. "Instead of you guys?"

Scott grinned. "Don't be ridiculous." He cupped Stiles' face, running a thumb over Stiles' lips. Then he leaned in and kissed him, gentle and slow. When he pulled back, Stiles' eyes were wide, his other hand gripping Scott's arm.

"Are you serious about this?" he asked. "Are you sure?"

"We can both see Peter's concern for you... and it's genuine, Stiles. And as much as neither of us wanted to admit it, it's probably more than concern." Scott sighed. "I'm pretty sure it's love."

"And how do you know his feelings for me aren't one-sided?"

Scott chuckled. "Because I know you, dude. And I mean, I... I sort of just know? When you woke up at the clinic and you saw all of us there, you smelled really happy. Content. Even with everything that was going on, you were where you wanted to be."

Stiles wrinkled his nose. "I kinda hate that I'm so transparent to werewolves."

Scott smiled.

"But I'm already asking you and Derek to share me. Three boyfriends feels a little greedy."

Stiles saw a spark of wicked delight in Scott's eyes. 

"I'm sure Derek and I can occupy ourselves well enough when you're with Peter."

"Scotty... Did something happen that I should know about?"

Scott ducked his head and Stiles could swear he saw him blushing.

"Oh, my god!" Stiles exclaimed. "When?! And details, please!"

When Stiles' heart rate jumped, Scott frowned, head jerking toward the heart monitor.

"Only if you relax!" he said.

"Okay, I'm relaxed," Stiles insisted, and, curse him, Scott actually waited for Stiles' pulse to even out before he said anything more.

"The mind link with Peter... when I came out of it," Scott explained, his face going red again. "I guess he thought I'd been in danger."

"And?"

"And.... Derek kissed me."

"Holy shit."

"I know! I wasn't expecting it. But it was nice." Scott smiled. "I kinda wanna do it again. Like, just kiss, and maybe hold hands? But that sounds dumb, doesn't it?"

"Doesn't sound dumb," Stiles said. "Sounds really sweet actually."

"I just hope Derek thinks so, too."

"Why wouldn't he? He's the one who started it," Stiles noted.

"True," Scott agreed.

Stiles turned serious again. "You're sure about Peter? Both of you?"

Scott nodded. "Maybe you'll be a good influence on him."

"Do you think it'll get weird? Him being Derek's uncle? And the guy who turned you?"

Scott chuckled. "He isn't dating _us_."

"Yeah, but... we had a pack pile together. I was kinda hoping that'd be a regular thing." He shrugged. "I wouldn't want to leave Peter out of that."

"We had a pack pile. Not sex."

"But sometimes pack piles lead to sex?" Stiles replied, sounding rather hopeful even to his own ears.

Scott sighed. "We'll deal with that when it happens."

"'When'?"

"You're dating three werewolves. Or, you will be," Scott said. Then he honest-to-god waggled his eyebrows. "We're gonna exhaust the fuck outta you."

Stiles didn't have the strength to pull the pillow from under his head and thwack his best friend with it like he wanted to, so he settled for poking him in the ribs.

Scott laughed.

\----------

When the sun began to edge over the horizon and peek into the house through the curtains, Derek woke to the sensation of fingers carding through his hair. He opened his eyes a fraction to see that, where Scott should have been under Derek's outstretched arm, there was only a pair of legs, Stiles' hand still firmly clasped in Derek's on the other side of those legs. Peter lay curled up beside Stiles, his arm around the young man's waist, hand resting low on Stiles' belly in a display of protection.

The legs were Scott's, of course, the alpha having woken up earlier, sitting up and propped against Stiles' headboard. It was Scott's fingers in Derek's hair, his other hand resting on Stiles' shoulder. Derek spied a sliver of skin peeking from under Stiles' shirt collar, in contact with Scott's fingers, and every now and then a wayward black tendril snaked its way up Scott's arm.

"How long have you been up?" Derek asked, turning his head slightly - just enough to catch Scott's eyes without interrupting the hand on his head.

"Just a few minutes," Scott replied. His own eyes were closed, and despite the lazy smile on his face, his brow would furrow in a grimace whenever pain snuck up his arm.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"I'm listening," Scott said, his voice tapering down to a whisper. "Hear it?"

Derek tilted his head, waiting. All he heard were heartbeats, Scott's and Stiles' and Peter's, and the intake and exhalation of breath. Whatever Scott was hearing, it wasn't in Derek's range. Maybe it was because of the alpha status--

A faint _thump thump thump_ reached Derek's ear and he froze. Scott's hand stilled, fingers still tangled in Derek's hair, and Derek could almost feel Scott's mouth turn up in a grin.

"Is that...?"

"Yep."

Derek sat up, his own heart pounding in his chest. "Why is there only one?"

As Derek moved, Scott's hand did as well, down to Derek's arm. "I can hear both again if I shift," Scott said. "I think we can only hear one because one's bigger than the other."

Settling back down, Derek tried to slow his pulse. "For a minute there--" He shook his head, not wanting to voice what he feared.

Scott's hand on the side of Derek's face calmed him; he hoped the boy wasn't trying to take his pain too. But he accepted the assurance in the gesture, and then leaned down closer, waiting.

Scott pulled him in the rest of the way and kissed him softly.

"This is something we should probably talk about soon," Scott said, lips still in Derek's breathing space when they paused.

"Soon," Derek agreed, "but not now. Don't you have school today?"

"Do we have time for things like school?"

Derek settled back against the headboard beside the young alpha and tangled their fingers together. "The Desert Wolf could hear their heartbeats at the clinic."

"Yeah, I figured that out, too," Scott said.

"He won't come for them now," Derek said. "They aren't ready to be born."

"You think he'll really wait that long?"

"I think he has to. If he wants his money."

Scott gulped. Their quiet morning was over.

"So in the meantime, we recoup," Derek said. "That means you should go to school, and I'll watch over them. We'll put our heads together when they're awake - when Peter's strong enough."

Inhaling deeply, Scott nodded. "Okay."

"We're gonna figure this out," Derek assured him. "Stiles is going to be safe, and so are the twins. I promise."

Scott met Derek's eyes, and the older wolf tipped Scott's chin up, leaning in for another kiss, this one chaste, a seal on the words he'd just said.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are looking up as Peter takes the lead on forming a plan to take down the Desert Wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL.
> 
> It's finally here. The next chapter. I'm back to regular weekly updating, now that the cold months are over. (I always suck at productivity during the winter.) Thank you to all my readers who are still around for this, you have the patience of saints/mermaids/gods/other figures of your choice.
> 
> Enjoy the new chapter! :D

The world seemed less dangerous in the light of a new day.

Lydia was the first one ready to leave, taking Allison and Isaac with her so they could all get to school. Despite Lydia's insistence she get to school herself, Malia stayed behind with Braeden, who'd gotten started talking shop about the Desert Wolf when Derek came out to the back porch. There was no way they were pulling Malia away then.

The Sheriff went upstairs to sit with Stiles - and, by extension, Peter - until everyone who was going to leave had left, his anxiety about all the activity around Stiles and in his house made all too clear by the bags under his eyes. Kira headed out with Melissa and Scott, work and school beckoning them, and Chris stayed on guard out front.

Amidst all the commotion and movement of the others, Deaton headed upstairs, this time to check on Peter.

The protection barrier around the house was intact once more, Deaton having opened it to let everyone out. The Sheriff finally headed to work, albeit reluctantly, as he'd planned on using resources there to find any new information.

Despite the return of the barrier and the guards at both entrances to the house, Deaton still felt on edge. His head remained sore from his tussle with the Desert Wolf just a few hours before. According to both Derek and Scott, he wouldn't attempt another go at Stiles until the children were ready to be born, but Deaton knew that would only give him time to take out anyone who was trying to protect the young man and his twins.

Everyone who'd just left could now very well be in danger.

Peter was still out cold when Deaton entered the bedroom. Stiles appeared to have just woken, his eyes lazy and unalert as he watched Peter sleeping beside him. One hand covered Peter's where it lay on Stiles' stomach.

"How are you feeling?" Deaton asked quietly, drawing up a chair.

"Tired," Stiles said, smiling faintly. "You'd think fourteen hours of sleep would take care of that."

"You have a lot of drugs in your system," Deaton replied. He grabbed a stethoscope from his medical bag on the floor and slipped it on, placing the end of it to Peter's back to listen.

"How is he?" Stiles asked. "Do you know what happened?"

Deaton finished listening to Peter's heartbeat and breathing before responding. "Scott unblocked his memories," Deaton told Stiles. "I'm not sure yet what was recovered, but it took a toll on him."

"He's gonna be okay though, right?"

"His heart rate's picked up since they completed the mind link," Deaton said. "It'll take time, but he should fully recover."

Stiles let out a sigh. "That's good."

Deaton took the opportunity then to go over the twins' EKG readings. Upon seeing a little improvement in Luke's pulse rate, he hummed his approval.

"Luke is doing better," Deaton said. "His heartbeat's gotten stronger in the last couple of hours."

"More good news," Stiles said, rubbing around his belly where the heart monitor band wasn't in the way.

Deaton smiled and said, "Yes, it is."

\----------

Stiles awoke late in the afternoon with a desperate need to pee. He looked over to see Peter, still sleeping beside him, and wondered if he could get out of bed without disturbing him.

He got as far as moving the sheet aside when Peter opened his eyes.

"Want a hand?" the werewolf asked, eyes wide and alert.

"You weren't asleep?"

"Been awake a couple hours," Peter replied.

Stiles noted the change in Peter's speech pattern - simple phrasing, subject missing; he wondered whether it was because Peter was still fatigued from the procedure with Scott, or if, maybe, whatever memories he'd uncovered had had some profound effect on him.

"I just gotta use the toilet," Stiles replied.

Peter stood and helped Stiles out of bed, walking tight against his side as he guided him to the bathroom.

He managed to do his business without incident, and, after washing his hands, opened the door to find Peter relaxed against the wall, arms folded loosely over his chest. Their eyes met, and Peter crossed the hallway to loop an arm around Stiles' waist, helping him back to his room and easing him back into bed.

Peter knelt down before Stiles, taking both his hands, 

"So now that you're awake..." Peter trailed off, eyes down.

"What is it?"

"There are some things I need to tell you," Peter replied. "Things I saw in the memories Talia locked away."

"Okay," Stiles said. "Whatever is it, you can tell me."

One corner of Peter's mouth quivered, like he wanted to smile but couldn't allow it to happen.

"Talia didn't take my memories of her own accord," Peter said. "I asked her to take them."

"Why?"

"I'm the one who carried Malia," Peter said, his voice quiet like he was admitting a sin.

"You were?"

Peter nodded. "I think that's why... I've been more attuned to your situation than Scott or Derek has been. Why taking your pain affected me the way it did."

"So the Desert Wolf...?"

"He's the alpha who's been following you," Peter said. "There weren't two of them, only him. He's working alone."

"That's good, right?" Stiles asked. "One less guy to fight."

"I wish it were that easy," Peter said. He sighed, standing to sit on the bed beside Stiles. "My memories are back. That means I know things about the Desert Wolf that I didn't remember until last night."

"Such as?"

"He's strong," Peter said. "Stronger than he's shown us."

"Well, he got through mountain ash without any trouble, so yeah, I figured he was stronger than normal." Stiles shifted on the bed, and Peter helped him return to a more comfortable position against the cache of pillows. "Do you think he created the etheric cord himself? Maybe that's how he knows so much about them."

"I suppose it's a possibility we need to consider."

"So what's the plan now?"

"If we take what I remember and put it together with what Braeden knows about him, I think we can track the Desert Wolf and kill him."

"I like that plan."

"I didn't want to leave while you were asleep," Peter said. "Will you be all right up here alone for a few minutes?"

Stiles nodded. "I think I'll survive some alone time."

"I could send Derek back up," Peter suggested.

"He'll need to help with the plan more than I'll need the hand-holding," Stiles insisted. "Seriously, I'll be fine. Go plan murder."

Peter gave a little sneer. "Smart-ass."

"It's why you love me," Stiles said with a smile.

Peter leaned forward and kissed Stiles on the forehead. As he pulled back, Stiles caught him and pulled him back for a real kiss, one that was far less hesitant and nervous than the ones they'd shared before.

"Careful..." Peter paused to say. "You'll raise your heart rate too much."

"I can't wait until I don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Won't be too much longer. Have patience." He gave Stiles another quick peck because he couldn't help himself, then headed for the door. "Call if you need anything."

"Will do."

Peter backed through the doorway with a smile, turning before he disappeared down the hall.

For a minute, the room felt too empty without Peter in it. Stiles laid his hands over his stomach, waiting for a reminder that he wasn't really alone.

Stiles released a breath and settled into the quiet calm of his room, comforted by the twin kicks beneath his palms.

\----------

Derek patrolled the back yard of the Stilinski house, his shoulders tense and eyes alert. If he neared the boundary of the barrier around the property, he felt his energy drain a little, so he kept a good few feet between himself and it.

When Peter stepped outside, taking the steps down to approach him, Derek paused in his pacing.

"How is he?"

"He's strong," Peter replied. "And so are the twins. They'll be fine. We'll see to that."

Derek gave a nod.

"Where's Braeden?"

"Around front, with Malia," Derek said.

"We need to talk."

Derek motioned to the front of the house. "I'm staying here," he said.

"We _all_ need to talk," Peter said. "Malia, too."

Derek sighed.

"I know you want to stay here in defensive mode," Peter said, "and I wish you could."

"I'm not afraid to fight the Desert Wolf, Peter."

"No, you're afraid of leaving Stiles alone," Peter answered. "So am I."

"Someone needs to stay with him."

"And that should be Scott."

The announcement had Derek's attention. Scott was stronger than either of them, so holding him back from the fight didn't seem too smart.

"Walking into a fight with Scott will be little better than walking into a fight with Stiles," Peter added. "We're not going to make it easier for him to get what he wants."

"You think we can take him ourselves?" Derek asked. "Just the two of us?"

"It won't be just us. We have Braeden, Malia, the Sheriff... Chris Argent, even." Peter smiled darkly. "We'll take a small army to his doorstep."


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace is found around the dinner table, but how long can it last?

Scott headed for the kitchen, still going over the new plan in his mind. He wasn't sure it would work, and even if it did, he didn't like putting so many of his friends in danger.

Peter had insisted it was a danger he was willing to accept, and Derek, Braeden, and the Sheriff had all said the same. They would need the others on board, of course - Chris, Allison, Isaac, Malia - but Lydia had already said they couldn't keep her out of this, and Kira wanted to help too. They had a small army, just like Peter had said. They needed to use it.

Scott stopped in the middle of the kitchen, taking in all the ingredients and cooking equipment on the counters and in the sink.

"Need any help?"

Melissa turned and smiled warmly at her son. "You mean you? Or someone who knows how to cook?"

"I can cook," Scott said in protest. "I just need instructions."

With a glance around the kitchen, Melissa nodded to the unopened bag of potatoes on another counter. "You could rinse and peel the potatoes."

"Can I use my claws for that?"

Melissa rolled her eyes. "Why don't you try it the human way first?"

Scott grinned at her in reply.

They worked in silence for a while, Scott prepping the potatoes while his mom flattened out a lump of dough. A little while later, she put the bread in the oven, then turned and leaned against the counter, folding her arms over her chest.

When Scott realized he was being stared down, he looked up, eyebrows high on his forehead.

"What?"

"You," Melissa replied. "You and Stiles, and you and Derek. And you and Stiles and Derek."

"What about us?"

"When were you going to tell me things were serious between you?"

Scott gulped, hand pausing with the chopping knife in mid-air. "Between who?"

"Between the three of you," Melissa said. "I know you've been trying to hide it, but come on. I have eyes." She smiled a little. "And I'm happy for you, don't get me wrong. I just... want to be included in your life."

"Mom, you _are_ included in my life," Scott said. He set down the knife. "Were we really that obvious?"

"Not at first," his mom said. "Not until the night you helped Peter get his memories back. Then I saw the way you and Derek looked at each other. To be honest, I was a little confused, because I could've sworn he and Stiles had something, and then it seemed like you and Stiles were making the same eyes at each other, and then... Well, I just put it together."

Scott sighed. He walked over to Melissa and leaned against the counter beside her, echoing her stance. "It started out just me and Stiles. Then we figured out Derek had feelings for him, too. We decided to try it out, the three of us. Derek called us a triad."

"And you're happy this way?"

With a tight shrug, Scott shook his head. "We _were_ happy that way. Now we're something else."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning..." Scott struggled to word it appropriately, everything that had happened, that they'd been through. "Derek and I saw something happening between Stiles and Peter. We decided to let it become something more, if Stiles wanted it to." Scott waited for his mom's reply, but she remained quiet. "I don't know how it'll work," he added. " _If_ it'll work."

"Honey, every relationship has that moment of doubt--more than one, actually. If you're all committed to seeing each other happy, how can it go wrong?"

"Thing is, I don't know what that makes us now. We're still a triad, I guess... but then there's Peter."

"So you're a triad plus one," Melissa said. When Scott caught her eye, she smiled.

"And very soon we'll be a triad plus one, plus two," he said.

"Come here," Melissa said, and she pulled him into a hug. "As long as I'm around, you know you won't be alone. Not you, and not your new family."

Scott tightened his arms around her. "Thanks, mom," he said.

"You're welcome." She broke from the hug and swatted her son on the arm. "Now get back to those potatoes."

Scott smiled. "Yes, ma'am."

\----------

Derek helped Stiles down for dinner when it was ready. Everyone had insisted he stay upstairs and eat in bed, but he felt the need to move around, and Melissa said it should be okay if he took it slow.

His dad was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. He caught sight of Stiles holding a supportive hand under his large belly and sighed. "Honestly, this is a sight I'm still not used to," he said when Stiles was halfway down.

"Yeah, you and me both," Stiles replied. Derek was the only one other than Stiles himself who knew that was a lie, something said to make his dad feel better.

Derek felt a wave of comfort at knowing Stiles had found some level of acceptance that his body could do this, could create life - even if it required supernatural elements to make it happen. As they continued down, he resisted the urge to palm Stiles' belly himself, to feel the now-familiar kicks of the twins against his hand. Stiles wouldn't have minded it, and would have even welcomed it, but he thought the Sheriff might still be a little weirded out to see it.

He got Stiles seated at the table and looked at the empty chairs on either side of him. The Sheriff was already seated across from him, next to Melissa's chair. That left the chair to Stiles' left and the head of the table to his right open.

"Where's Braeden?" Stiles asked.

"She wanted to keep watch outside," the Sheriff said. "Malia, too."

"Peter took some food out to them," Derek said, his mind still on the seating arrangement. He didn't want to assume who would be beside Stiles, nor did he want to sit at either end. He wished he knew where Scott wanted them to be.

Peter returned and stopped in the doorway.

Derek watched the expression on his face shift as he looked around the table and heard the subtle uptick in Peter's heartbeat, one he was used to hearing from Stiles right before the boy gave in to an oncoming panic attack.

"Well, isn't this cozy," Peter said.

"Here," Stiles said, kicking at the chair to his right. Rather than pushing it out for Peter to sit, he nearly knocked it over.

Peter caught the chair and sat down, a hint of a smile in Stiles' direction before he glanced sideways at the Sheriff. His heart rate didn't calm.

With one less option to cloud his choice, Derek decided to sit to Stiles' left. Since he'd helped more with the cooking than the others, it seemed right that Scott have the other end of the table next to Melissa. As soon as Derek was situated, Stiles took his hand on top of the table.

Then he heard Scott's voice carrying down the hallway as their alpha headed for the dining room.

"Don't start without me!" Scott rounded the doorway and stopped, smiling at everyone. "Great. Everyone's here." He crossed the room to the last open chair and pulled it out, but didn't sit. "Before we eat, there's something I wanna say."

Stiles grinned; it was a mischievous expression, one Derek realized he'd missed seeing lately.

"Do I need to point out that starving the pregnant human is a terrible idea?"

"Stiles!" Scott huffed. "It'll only take a minute."

Derek released Stiles' hand and covered his mouth with it instead. "We're listening," he said, recoiling when Stiles licked his palm.

"I could've warned you that'd be a bad idea," Scott told him. Then he cleared his throat and addressed everyone. "Anyway. Something I need to say."

Stiles took Derek's hand again, then Peter's. It set off a chain reaction of hand-holding around the table when Derek then reached for Scott's. Melissa took her son's hand next, then the Sheriff's.

Two hands remained, sitting on the table in close proximity, their owners hesitant. The room was quiet, but no one prodded them, not even Stiles.

Then, Peter turned his hand over, palm open. Their eyes never met as the Sheriff took his offer.

Stiles smiled, and the room breathed again.

"So," Scott said, drawing everyone's full attention. "You guys are my family. Whether it's through blood or choice or... childhood codependency." Scott laughed a little and held Stiles' gaze for a moment. "And we wouldn't be here together like this if not for... some very strange and unexpected circumstances. I guess, what I'm trying to say is, thank you. And not just for me." Scott's face lit up with a smile. "For the two little werewolves at the table we haven't even met yet." Scott took his seat then, giving Derek's hand a squeeze.

"That was well said," Melissa told him.

"In truth," Peter chimed in, "we don't yet know whether they're both werewolves."

"Well, they're still family," Stiles said with a nod.

"I didn't think that was up for debate," Peter replied.

"As much as you are," Stiles added.

The light-hearted affection disappeared from Peter's eyes at that, replaced with the vulnerability Scott had spoken of at the car wash. Derek didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing it on Peter.

After that, there was little conversation as they began to eat. Derek assumed Scott and Peter were doing what he was: listening to Stiles' heartbeat and breathing, all of them a little on edge about him being out of bed.

Halfway through the meal, the Sheriff put down his fork for a moment and said, "This is delicious."

"Agreed," Peter said, and Stiles nearly choked on his food.

Scott half-stood, ready to race to his side. "Stiles?"

Derek put his fork down and rubbed Stiles' back until he calmed down.

Stiles waved a hand at Scott to sit. "I'm fine," he said. "Just choking on all the kumbaya at this end of the table."

"If you weren't heavily pregnant, I'd consider playfully smacking you," Peter said.

The Sheriff picked his fork up again. "Stiles, this is made of silver, isn't it?"

"It'll take more than a pronged piece of metal, Stilinski," Peter said.

"I just need enough time to reach my gun," the Sheriff added.

"No problem," Peter said. "Gives me plenty of time to reach these." With a flick of his wrist, Peter produced claws, setting his hand palm up on the table.

"Yeah, you're gonna need 'em," the Sheriff said.

"Guys!"

Both men looked to Stiles, who seemed genuinely concerned that bloodshed was about to occur. Derek put a hand on his knee and flashed him a worried smile.

"They weren't serious, Stiles."

Peter exchanged a look with the Sheriff, and they both started chuckling.

"Oh my god, you are both _assholes_ ," Stiles said. "Well, you can check off 'give a pregnant guy a heart attack' from your bucket lists. Congratulations."

Laughter went around the room, and for the moment, Derek thought everything felt just right.

\----------

A throbbing ache across his abdomen woke Stiles from his nap, but it faded before he could suss out how serious it might be. He sat up briefly, touching the spot where it had originated, then told himself to relax, and not work himself up over nothing. Putting his weight back on his pillows, he took a few deep breaths to calm down.

"Stiles?"

He looked up to see Peter standing by his window, an arm propped on the sill. When he remained quiet, Peter pulled Stiles' desk chair over and sat beside him, taking Stiles' hand when he offered it. With his other hand, he displaced Stiles' where it sat on his stomach and siphoned a few wayward tendrils of pain.

"It was probably gas," Stiles said, his brain still a little groggy from sleeping so much lately.

"Can't be too careful," Peter reminded him, smiling softly.

"I know."

"How've your dreams been?"

Stiles shrugged. "You mean, has he been in them since we were in San Fran?"

"If he knows about the connection, he may no longer appear to you," Peter said.

"Great, that's comforting."

Peter squeezed his hand.

"What about you?" Stiles asked. "You looked a little pensive over there just now. How're those recovered memories treating you?"

"No better than the ones I already had," Peter said with a tight smile.

"What the hell does that mean?"

Eyes falling to their joined hands, Peter took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking. "There's something else I need to tell you."

"Okay. Tell me."

"I knew about Lydia, before I gave her the bite. I knew what she would become," Peter said. "You probably figured that out. What you don't know is that she was only supposed to bring me back if I failed."

"If you failed...?"

"To kill Kate. If she killed me first, or another Argent..."

"So when you came back..." Stiles churned the new information in his head. "Did you know she turned instead?"

"I only knew that she'd survived. I tried to find her, and I would've killed her. It wasn't until Scott confronted me about her that I realized what must've happened."

"Well, if that's the case, then I'm glad you turned Kate," Stiles said. "Else you'd still be dead."

"That's not what I'm getting at." Peter released Stiles' hand and paced to the opposite side of the room. "I wanted Derek to kill me."

He'd known Peter had been suicidal before. Mexico proved that he'd been right about that. But Stiles hadn't known the darkness within him extended back that far. Stiles wanted to get up and go to Peter then, to make him look him in the eyes and tell him he didn't still feel that way. And he would've, if he hadn't been so impractically huge.

"I wanted him to take the alpha power, because it was Talia's power and it belonged to..." He stopped, shaking his head. "I thought Kate was dead, so I was ready to die, too. And I wanted to, because I failed to save my family, my _pack_." His voice dropped, barely more than a whisper. "And then, turns out I failed to avenge their deaths, too." He half-turned, facing Stiles but not meeting his eyes. "And now I'm... After all this with the Desert Wolf, I'm afraid that, sooner or later, I'll fail you, too."

Stiles threw aside the blanket covering his legs and swung himself sideways. As he planned, Peter immediately came over to keep him from doing too much.

"You should tell me when you need something," Peter chided him.

Clinging tightly to him, Stiles gripped both of Peter's biceps, keeping him from running away once Stiles said his piece. "Peter, this has got to stop."

"I'm trying to keep you from hurting yourself."

"No, this whole... mopey suicidal thing you've got going on. It's not you. Where's the attitude, and the snark, and the witty comebacks?"

Peter sat back on his heels, sighing as he dropped his head down, but Stiles kept going. He may not want to hear it, but Stiles was going to make him listen.

"You think you failed? I say you didn't. You stayed in that house trying to rescue your family until it nearly _killed_ you. You went after everyone who had anything to do with that fire, and yeah, sure, you turned Kate, but now she's in Eichen House. Which you, like, legit escaped by the way."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Stiles."

"Come on, Peter! You cheated death! Yes, there are marks against you. But I know you, and I know you _won't_ fail me." Stiles grabbed at Peter's shirt collar, the only part of him he could readily reach. Peter caved easily and came closer, settling his hands on Stiles' thighs and tacitly accepting the hug Stiles wrapped him in. When Stiles spoke again, he was steadier, softer. "I know you'd die trying to protect me. Only... I don't want that to be because you have a death wish."

Peter's embrace changed, from one of stabilizing support to an affectionate nuzzling, his hands moving to encircle Stiles more completely.

Then he huffed a faint laugh behind Stiles' ear. "That was quite the speech, Stiles. Are you planning to take your flair for the melodramatic to Broadway?"

Stiles pushed back, glaring at him a second. "You're an asshole," he said.

"I know; you've told me." 

Then Stiles' expression softened, and he smiled. "I love you."

Both of Peter's hands came up to cup Stiles' face, and he brought them together in a near-kiss, noses touching as he paused long enough to drive Stiles crazy.

Just as Stiles closed the gap, he felt the throbbing return, low in his belly, lasting more than the few seconds it had before. He bent over, clutching his side as he breathed through it.

"Stiles?"

"It's the same thing that woke me up," Stiles admitted. When it still hadn't abated, he felt the stirrings of panic in his chest. "And it isn't going away this time."

Peter released his hold on Stiles so he could siphon some of the pain out. "Just breathe through it," he said. He only managed the connection for a second; after that, the pain disappeared again, but it still knocked Peter back a little.

"What the hell was that?" Stiles asked.

"Felt like a contraction," Peter said. He pulled out his phone and checked the time, writing it down on a scrap piece of paper from Stiles' desk.

Stiles caught his breath. "That's how they feel?"

"Yes, and you need to tell us when the next one comes," Peter said.

"Why?"

"Because the closer each one gets to the one before it, the sooner you'll go into labor."

"Isn't it still too early?" Stiles asked. Keeping the panic at bay was becoming increasingly more difficult.

"Deaton said Leia was ready," Peter said. He put a calming hand on Stiles' knee. "And even if Luke isn't, Deaton has the equipment to help him survive."

"Scott..." Stiles gripped Peter's hand tightly. "Derek. They should be here. They should know."

"I'll send them up," Peter said. Standing, he leaned over Stiles and kissed the top of his head. "And I'll make a run to the clinic, make sure everything's set up."

Stiles held tight to his hand. "Don't go. Can't you just call Deaton? You don't have to go."

"Labor is a long process, Stiles. It's not going to happen in the next ten minutes, and I'll be back before you know it." He stooped a little until he was eye-level with Stiles and told him, "I'll be here."

Peter picked up his phone again and pocketed it. "Scott!" he shouted towards the door.

Seconds later, Scott hurried into the room. "What is it? Stiles, are you okay?"

"He's fine right now, but he's started having contractions," Peter explained. "I'm going to Deaton's."

"Yeah, of course," Scott said with a nod, hurrying to Stiles' side.

"When he has another contraction, write down the time," Peter said, and with that he headed downstairs.

"Scott?"

"I'm right here," Scott assured him.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Stiles told him. "It's too early. And the Desert Wolf..."

"Hey, don't worry about that, okay? We're gonna take care of it. Keep breathing, okay?"

Stiles groaned, but it wasn't a contraction that time. "My back is killing me."

"Okay, come here," Scott said, helping Stiles get into a more comfortable position. "I'll take some of the pain."

"You don't have to..."

"I don't want to see you in pain," Scott said. "It's not gonna hurt me, Stiles."

Stiles finally gave him a nod, and Scott put a hand on his back.

\----------

"Derek?" Peter called as he headed down the stairs.

"What is it?" Derek's voice carried through the house before he popped into view from outside. "Is Stiles okay? I heard you call for Scott."

"Stiles is fine," Peter assured him. "But he's in labor."

Derek came to a halt, dumbfounded. "What?"

"It's still early, but I need to go to the clinic," Peter announced. "It won't take long, but I need you and Scott to stay with Stiles."

Derek followed Peter to the door. "Are you sure it's a good idea to leave right now? We can call Deaton."

"I need to do more than talk."

"You're giving him more blood?" Derek asked.

Peter stopped and looked at his nephew. "Scott told you?"

"Did you think he wouldn't?"

Peter pulled his jacket on and reached for the door. "I didn't think about it either way," he replied.

"It's a good thing," Derek said, an attempt to reassure him, even if it was a poor one. "What you're doing is a good thing. And people knowing about it is a good thing."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'll be back soon."

Derek watched him disappear out the door. Then he sighed, and headed upstairs to check on Stiles.

Peeking into Stiles' room, Derek found the boy lying on his side with his eyes shut tight, pillows strewn around him in a new configuration. Scott lay behind him, wide awake with a hand on Stiles' lower back, taking his pain. When he spotted Derek in the doorway, he propped himself on one arm and gave him a weak smile.

"Is he asleep?" Derek asked.

"Fuck, no," Stiles snapped.

Scott's brow scrunched up. "This isn't helping?"

"It's helping me not wake the neighbors," Stiles replied. "Otherwise, not so much."

The black tendrils spiraling up Scott's arm faded, and soon Stiles was breathing evenly, his body relaxing.

"That was the worst one so far," Stiles told them. "Peter said we need to time them."

Derek spotted the paper Stiles pointed out and jotted down the current time.

"Peter went to the clinic to give Deaton more blood. He'll be back soon."

"Blood?" Stiles' eyes popped open. "What do you mean, blood?"

Before Derek could answer, he heard a loud crash coming from the living room.

Stiles let out a gasp, his heart rate rocketing as tried to sit up.

Then they heard a gunshot.

"Stay here," Derek commanded. He slipped into the hallway, catching a glimpse of the terrified expression on Stiles' face as he shut the door behind him.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The barrier is broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey! Two chapters in one day! And it's full of minor character POV!

The night air cooled around them, causing Melissa to shiver. She wrapped her arms around herself, taking a stand beside Sheriff John Stilinski in the middle of the yard. The outline of his service weapon was visible under the edge of his jacket; she hoped he wouldn't have need to use it here.

"Just when you think your life can't get any crazier," John mused, "your son comes home pregnant with werewolf twins."

Melissa laughed. "It'll be very amusing when you finally get used to the idea _after_ they're born."

"And you're used to it now? How is that possible?"

Melissa gave him a shrug. "Our children are alive, and they're doing wonderful things. I'll take a little crazy with it."

"If only I could share your perspective."

"You're trying to hold on to what you knew, and hoping to find the path from there to here. It's not gonna work like that."

John nodded, and for a moment they were quiet. He was alert, eyes scanning the neighborhood for any movement.

She wondered how the neighbors felt seeing all the activity around the Sheriff's house, if they even noticed. They probably didn't; if Melissa had learned anything in the last two years, it was that people were content to be blind to the supernatural activity in Beacon Hills. They wanted nothing to do with her son - until he was the only one standing between them and some monster ready to kill or eat them.

Melissa felt another chill run through her.

John caught her eye. "You cold?"

"I left my jacket at home," she told him. "Didn't even think I'd need it."

John took his jacket off and held it out for her.

With a nod, she accepted his offer. "Thank you."

"Anytime," John said with a smile. He slipped his hand over Melissa's and they returned to silent observation.

The silence was broken by the opening of the front door. John and Melissa both looked back to the house, watching Peter exit and shut the door behind himself. He walked with determination, approaching them with purpose in his eyes.

"Is everything okay?" Melissa asked.

"Stiles is in the early stages of labor," he informed them. "I sent Derek and Scott up to sit with him and told them to time the contractions."

John dropped Melissa's hand, heading for the house.

"Someone needs to keep watch out here!" Peter called after him. "And it can't be me."

John halted, spinning on his heel. "And why not?" he snapped, his earlier acceptance of Peter at the dinner table falling away too easily.

"John," Melissa tried to calm him.

"I'm heading to Deaton's," Peter replied, barely containing a reciprocal rage.

"Right." John nodded, simmering but no less angry. "Fine. Get out of here if you're going."

Melissa watched the two men stare each other down, neither one relenting. She held her breath as Peter took a few steps toward John, their faces inches away when he stopped. Even as Peter released a small, rolling snarl, John held his ground.

"If Stiles loses too much blood during the delivery," Peter told him through clinched teeth, "it'll be _mine_ that saves his life."

John blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"You're not a match for his blood type," Peter said. "Scott, Derek, Melissa... none of you are viable donors. But me? I'm universal."

"O negative," Melissa realized, remembering a conversation she'd had with Dr. Deaton. She put a hand on John's shoulder, jolting his attention toward her. "Alan told me he had to give Stiles two units of O negative when Peter brought him back from San Francisco."

John's eyes drifted, pausing on some point over Peter's shoulder. Then he sighed. "That was your blood?"

"Yes," Peter seethed. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to end this so I can go give him a little more. Just in case."

John only nodded then, and Melissa felt the tension in his body slowly drain. He stepped up to the barrier and broke the mountain ash line so Peter could leave.

Peter caught Melissa's eye and there was an otherwise imperceptible acknowledgment between them, a silent thank you.

"I'll go in and check on Stiles," Melissa told John. "I'll see about Derek or Scott keeping an eye out here for a minute, if you want."

John closed the barrier again and watched Peter drive away. Then Melissa headed for the house.

\----------

Malia was against mountain ash on principle, but the way it shimmered blue in front of her skin if she came too close to it had a mesmerizing quality that probably indicated she was some kind of strange. Still, strangeness had its charm; constant playing at the edge kept her informed of its steady strength and continued existence.

Yet it drained her to keep at it. So in order to stay in fighting shape, she had to take breaks.

She dropped her hand to her side and the rays of energy wavered and disappeared. Marching up the porch steps, she bumped shoulders with Braeden as she walked past her. "You're it."

"I'm always 'it'," Braeden replied. "I'll take breaks when I can sleep in peace."

Malia wrinkled her brow. "Isn't that what they say when you're dead?"

Braeden laughed. "No, that's _rest_ in peace."

Resting back against the porch railing, Malia returned to something Peter had told her before their recent strategy session. She wanted to know about his memories, why Talia had taken her from him. Why he didn't want to remember her.

He told her the truth of what happened, and then he left it up to her to decide what she'd do with the information. If she hated him, he wouldn't press the issue. He'd leave her alone if she asked him to.

"Can I ask you something?"

Braeden's attention remained on the periphery. "Sure."

"Do you think, if the Desert Wolf hadn't been after me... Do you think Peter would've wanted to keep me?"

"Do you wish he had?"

"I don't know," Malia replied. "I used to think I didn't. And I wouldn't want to forget my dad." She shrugged. "My adopted dad, anyway."

"He's still your father," Braeden told her.

"You mean Peter?"

"I mean Mister Tate."

"I guess now I think, I still wouldn't change things if I could. But it wouldn't be so bad if I got to know him." Malia shrugged. "I'm a Tate and that won't change. But part of me is a Hale, too."

"I think that's healthy," Braeden replied.

The sound of a car engine taking off caught Malia's attention; it came from the driveway, so it was either Peter, Melissa, or Sheriff Stilinski. She didn't remember anyone leaving that night being a part of the plan and wondered what had changed.

She pulled out her phone to text Scott and find out what was going on when, from the corner of her eye, Malia thought she saw the barrier shimmer. She jumped off the porch and scanned the yard, dashing from one side to the other to see if there was anyone there.

Then she felt it. Or rather, didn't.

"Braeden?"

"What is it?"

"The barrier."

"What about it?"

Malia swallowed a gulp. "I don't feel it anymore."

Braeden examined the line where she stood, walking along its length to see where it might be broken.

Malia stepped closer to it, heart pounding in her ears, until she stood right next to the line itself. She put up her hand, reached out, and pushed through clear air. Then she took another step, one foot over the mountain ash mixture meant to repel her, and crossed without resistance.

She sensed his presence before she heard him and turned sharply to warn Braeden.

"Look out!" she shouted, but it was too late.

The Desert Wolf had Braeden around the throat, his other hand wresting the shotgun from her grasp. He flung her bodily towards the house, where she crashed into the wall beside the door. She fell to the ground and remained there, unmoving.

Malia shifted, growling at the Desert Wolf.

"Out of all of you," he said, "you seemed the least annoying. If I didn't work solo, I'd offer you a place in my pack."

"And if I had manners, I'd politely decline," Malia spat.

The Desert Wolf chuckled. And then he attacked.

In a single upward stroke, he slashed Malia's stomach and chest. She doubled over, spitting up blood. Then another strike; the force of his blow sent her flying off her feet. She thudded against a tree behind her and crumpled to the ground, the world going black around her. 

\----------

Standing alone again, John returned to his vigil. His eyes were on the street and the neighbors' homes, but his mind was still on Peter, on the words he'd said and the confirmation Melissa had given him that Peter was telling the truth.

He hated Peter for it, hated that someone who was once so truly vile to him was in his son's life. That, in at least one respect, he was the only one who could save Stiles from death. Even more than all that, he hated that Stiles cared for the wolf in some way and there was nothing he could do to keep Peter away. That it could be a danger to Stiles to even try.

From far off down the road, an ambling dirty-looking man passed through the glow of a streetlight. John's eyes rested on him, watching him cautiously. He appeared to be drunk, or maybe stoned, John couldn't tell from so far away.

As the man made his way closer, John saw his clothes were torn and faded, a little too big for the man beneath them. Years of hunger had made him thin. John wondered where he'd come from, how he'd gotten this far on his own. Beacon Hills had its tiny homeless population, most of whom squatted downtown or in some caves in the Preserve, but they rarely wandered through neighborhoods like this, not even to go through the trash. Usually they stuck to the retail areas when they came out to panhandle.

"Sir, you look a little lost," John called out. "Can I help you with something?"

The man made it to the edge of John's yard and began to scan the ground, scratching his head. "It's the sheriff, the sheriff..." he mumbled. "Find the sheriff."

"What are you saying?" John asked, stepping closer.

"The dust, the dust..." the man said, dropping to his knees. He crawled around in the yard, continuing in a chant, "The dust, the dust. Find the sheriff, find the dust."

The word _dust_ brought John to full alert. He pulled out his gun and aimed straight at the man coming towards him. "Identify yourself!" he repeated.

The man ignored him, scuttling around in the yard. He stopped outside the line of mountain ash, his face brightening.

"Sir, back away from the line," John called out. He walked right over to the man and pointed the gun directly in his face. " _Now_."

"The line is dust, I had to find the dust," the man mumbled, suddenly scooping up handfuls of the barrier. He put it into his pocket as he went, rushing to gather it all up.

"Hey!" John tackled the man and wrestled him away from the barrier, but the man fought him, scratching into the dirt to reach the line.

"I need the dust!" the man shouted. "He needs it to stop the aliens! He promised to stop the aliens!"

"You're under arrest. Get over here!" John pulled the man's arms around to cuff his hands together, and then he examined the line. There wasn't much left in the spot where the man had taken handfuls, but John smoothed some of the surrounding mountain ash into the open spaces to reclose it.

The man kept mumbling, rolling and scrambling across the yard to get to another part of the barrier. He kicked up the dirt, breaking the line again.

"Come here!" John dragged the man to his car and stuffed him into the backseat, ignoring his pleas.

Then he heard a loud crash from somewhere behind the house. John raced to close up the line again, searching for any remaining break.

"I don't think that'll be necessary," a voice called.

John's head shot up as the voice's owner came around to the front yard, and he recognized the man from Peter's drawing.

The Desert Wolf was already inside the barrier line.

John drew his weapon again and took aim, firing immediately. The shot hit the Desert Wolf in the shoulder but he just kept marching forward. When he reached John, he redirected John's next shot with a sweep of his hand, then picked him up by the throat and hauled him into the house.

\----------

Before heading upstairs, Melissa removed John's jacket and hung it on the coat rack. She headed for the living room, where she'd stashed her medical kit under the coffee table. The portable ultrasound and the fetal heart monitors had stayed in Stiles' room, as they were too time-consuming to move and set up multiple times during the week.

She knelt by the table and tugged her kit forward, popping it open to scan the contents. The visual confirmation of the necessary tools inside cleared her head somewhat, the confrontation between John and Peter still fresh in her mind. It angered John that someone like Peter could be taking better care of Stiles than his own father. But to Melissa, it was a comfort; to know that others could be looking after Stiles without her knowing about it almost canceled out the fear she felt over those trying to do him harm.

But that was her maternal instinct. Her experience, her training, told her she still had work to do. She needed that side of her to take control, to put the mother aside and look at Stiles in a clinical manner.

She'd been truthful when she told John about accepting the craziness; still, it didn't mean it never weighed her down. She watched Scott suffer terrible injuries that would kill any human, and he kept going. Her medical background gave her a deeper appreciation of what being a werewolf meant than what John might understand; she'd learned to walk that fine line between fear and acceptance a long time ago. And yet, Scott was her son. She would always worry for him.

But Stiles wasn't a werewolf. He was human, and everything he'd gone through in the past few months was hardly natural. Despite Alan's reassurances that Stiles' body would know what to do when the time came, she had no idea what to expect in the coming hours.

And there was the fact that Luke wasn't quite ready to be born yet. The medications had helped Leia mature enough to be ready for delivery, but Luke was still fighting, even in the womb.

Melissa's mind raced with the thought of what might lay ahead. She pictured having to place a stillborn infant in Stiles' arms and held back a burst of tears at the notion. Pushing away the thought, she buried it deep, denying the negative outcomes she shouldn't be trying to predict.

Then Melissa took a few deep breaths and righted herself, preparing to walk up those stairs, steady on her own two feet, and be the nurse, not the mother.

\----------

Scott climbed off the bed, careful not to jostle Stiles as he did.

"It's him, isn't it? He's here."

There were more noises from outside the bedroom - fighting, breaking glass, more crashing.

Scott held Stiles' gaze steady, but he couldn't deny it. He'd feared the same when they heard the first crash. "We have to get you out of here," he said. He turned to the window and opened it.

"Do you really think I'll be able--?"

"I'll help you, Stiles, come on."

Following Scott's direction, Stiles hoisted himself up, leaning into Scott to keep his balance.

"Scott, wait," Stiles said. "Listen."

The house was too quiet in that moment, all the noise from the downstairs areas now gone. Scott frowned.

"We don't have time," Stiles said, his voice a frail whisper.

The door burst open and the Desert Wolf entered, his knuckles and claws bloodied. Stiles' heart lurched at the sight, pushing him to sit down again before he fainted.

At the same time, Scott blocked the alpha's way to Stiles. He shifted and growled at him, ready for a fight.

"Protective," the Desert Wolf noted. "That's cute."

"How'd you break the barrier?" Scott demanded.

The Desert Wolf sighed. "I made a homeless man do it." He gave him a disappointed smile. "It doesn't take a genius, Scott."

With that, Scott lashed at him, slicing surface layers of skin; the Desert Wolf didn't let him get closer for anything more. He backed away, into the hallway, until he hit a wall.

Then the Desert Wolf grabbed Scott's outstretched arm, stopping his next attack. He took the young wolf by the shoulders and wheeled him around, slamming him against the wall, banging his head into it with solid force. Scott's eyes closed as he collapsed into a heap on the floor.

"Scott!" Stiles stood from the bed, stopping to clutch his belly when he found it difficult to go more than a couple of inches at a time. Then, as if in answer to the excitement around him, he felt something inside him shift; the weight of the twins dropped against his palm.

Stiles froze. Something wet trickled out of him and immediately he knew what it meant. He groped for the night stand to hold himself upright, terrified of what could happen next.

The Desert Wolf faced him, scenting the air. "Is that...?" His eyes perked up. "Is that what I think it is?"

Moving backward, Stiles scuttled across the bed, but the Desert Wolf caught hold of his ankles and dragged him forward. He pried Stiles' legs apart and touched the seat of his pants, fingers dampening from the fluid already leaking out of him. He smiled. "Methinks someone's gone into labor."

"Scott!" Stiles shouted, but he'd been knocked out cold.

"True alpha or not, I've got a few decades on the boy," the Desert Wolf told him. He pulled out a small black case and unzipped it, setting it open on the night stand by Stiles' bed. Inside were four syringes filled with a clear liquid. "Now, let's get you into a similar state."

"Derek!" Stiles cried out, desperate for someone, anyone to hear him. " _Dad!_ "

The Desert Wolf laughed openly as he came at him. "There's no one to hear you now, Stiles. Best save your strength for childbirth. I think you're going to need it."

Stiles struggled again towards the other side of the bed but his effort was wasted. The Desert Wolf hauled him back and straddled him, holding his arm still while he injected the clear liquid into him.

"No!" Stiles cried out, trying to jerk free, but it was too late.

"Nighty-night, Stiles," the Desert Wolf said, and he smiled.

Stiles felt his limbs go limp, his eyelids droop, and his heart rate falter. Seconds later, he slipped into unconsciousness.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melissa stands her ground, and Peter returns to the house.

Melissa had only taken two steps up the stairs when she heard gunfire outside. Adrenaline kicked in and she hurried upwards, clutching tightly to the strap of her bag.

Then everything became a blur. The front door crashed open behind her. Derek rushed towards her from Stiles' room. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her out of his way. Her back hit the wall and just as quickly, Derek opened the door beside her and shoved her through it.

"Derek, wait!"

Melissa dropped her medical kit to the floor and listened to the near-alpha roar that Derek let out. Another roar followed it, from another werewolf. As a fight broke out between them, she covered her mouth at the sound of rending flesh. The noises grew softer, and she dared to peek out of her hiding place.

John lay motionless on the floor of the foyer. Derek and the attacker were in another room of the house, by the sound of it. Melissa groped for her kit, readying herself for the dash to Stiles' room.

Before she could act, Derek came flying into the banister of the stairway. He dropped to the floor in a bloody and broken heap, and he didn't get up.

Now frantic, Melissa searched the closet for some kind of weapon, certain the other would find her by the pounding of her heart. All she saw was coats and hangers and - 

Behind the last coat, propped in the corner, was a double-barreled shotgun.

She'd never used one before. Sure, she'd seen John and Chris expertly handle them, had even paid attention to their instructions on how to operate one in an emergency. But this would be the first time such a situation called for her to actually do it.

Melissa picked it up, the mother in her kicking in again, and she checked that the weapon was loaded. She fumbled a bit getting it ready to shoot, checked for a safety but didn't see one. Then she put her back to the closet wall and waited.

Heavy boots clomped up the steps, slow and purposeful. They came to a stop outside the closet, the light from the hallway blocked by a shadow.

Melissa gripped the shotgun with ferocity. She considered blasting the attacker straight through the door, but feared she'd be wasting her only shot. Still, she positioned the gun by her hip, finger hovering over the trigger.

The shadow moved on.

Down the hall, another crash, near Stiles' room. It had to be the Desert Wolf. She couldn't believe this was it, that her son was in danger again, that her grandchildren might be taken from her. Even if the Desert Wolf left her son alive, if Scott couldn't stop him, if he couldn't save Stiles and the twins, he would be devastated. And not only him, but Derek as well, and Peter--

Melissa's pulse nearly came to a screeching halt. Peter was out there. He would be back soon, but would it be in time?

Setting the gun down, Melissa pulled out her phone. She didn't have Peter's number, but she had Alan's, and she hoped that would be enough. Quickly, she typed out a message to him: _DESERT WOLF IS HERE._

Then a voice echoed through the house.

_"Protective. That's cute."_

Then she heard Scott. _"How'd you break the barrier?"_

_"I paid a homeless man to do it. It doesn't take a genius, Scott."_

There was a quick fight, and someone thudded against the wall.

Stiles' frightened voice carried down the hall. _"Scott!"_

Melissa's phone vibrated in her hand: a reply from Alan.

_On his way. Chris too. Stall if you can._

Melissa dared to feel relief, but knew better than to let it settle her. She picked up the gun again and this time prepared to face the Desert Wolf head-on.

_"True alpha or not, I've got a few decades on the boy. Now, let's get you into a similar state."_

_"Derek!"_ Stiles cried out. _"Dad! No!"_

Melissa opened the door and marched down the hall, fighting her rising panic with every ounce of her being.

The Desert Wolf stepped out, and she came to a halt before him, shotgun aimed at his center.

"Well, well," he said, smiling. "Mama Wolf has arrived."

"I'm not a wolf," Melissa replied. "But I won't let that stop me."

The Desert Wolf let out a laugh. "Oh, ho ho. What spunk!! That is just delightful." He stooped next to Scott and hauled him up his shirt, slinging him over one shoulder. "But it's not going to be enough."

"Put down my son."

"That's not going to happen," he replied. "Shoot me, if you must. It'll only annoy me, and then I'll strangle the life from your very human and breakable body."

"I'll only say it one more time," she told him. "Put down my son!"

"It's a fairer fight if I don't," the Desert Wolf said. "But if you insist."

He let Scott fall with a resounding thud, flicking out his claws as Melissa pulled the trigger. The shot hit him square in the chest, knocking him back a few steps, but he stayed on his feet. With a guttural growl, he leaped forward.

Melissa dropped the shotgun and ran.

She made it halfway down the stairs before he caught up to her, catching her by the back of her neck. He threw her the rest of the way down, and she landed on John, breaking her fall. Scrambling up, she hurried toward the back of the house, limping as her left leg protested the movement.

She looked back to see the Desert Wolf following at a slow clip; he had no need to hurry. She would never outrun him.

He marched right up to her and took a handful of her hair, dragging her backward.

Her head hit a side table and everything swam. As she hit the floor, she hoped she'd stalled the Desert Wolf long enough for Peter to make it back.

\----------

Peter steered his car straight through the front yard, driving right over the mountain ash - not a good sign. He stopped and pulled the brake, not bothering with gears or keys or lights.

"Stiles!" He dashed into the open house, past the broken furniture that littered the space, leaping over the Sheriff's body on his way up the stairs. Sniffing sharply, he caught the scent of blood. On the wall near Stiles' bedroom was a smear of red. Halting in the doorway, he flung the door wide and felt the world lurch out from under him.

The room was empty.

His heart skipped wildly, sheer terror consuming him for a moment.

"Peter?"

Turning from the empty room, Peter saw Sheriff Stilinski's eyes were open. He watched the man struggle to bring himself upright and prop himself on the potted plant nearby.

Peter steeled himself and tore through the house, searching for the boy, hoping against desperate hope that he jumped to the wrong conclusion, that Scott or Derek or _someone_ had managed to get him out of there before it was too late.

"Where is he?" the Sheriff demanded, holding tight to his shoulder. Blood seeped through his fingers anyway.

"He's not here," Peter said. He knelt beside him. "What happened?"

"He got inside."

Peter looked up to see Derek coming from the kitchen, holding shut a deep gash in his side. Shallow cuts on his face weren't closing up, so Peter knew the abdominal wound was a serious one.

"How?" Peter demanded to know.

Derek shook his head. "I don't know."

"He had someone break the barrier," the Sheriff replied. "The guy's out in my cruiser."

"Good. Have Braeden question him." Peter flicked out his claws and headed out the door.

Derek followed, slowed by his wound. "We know their scents. We're bringing them back."

"I'm going now," Peter said. "I can't let the trail get cold."

"Peter, wait."

"Call me if Braeden gets any information."

"Peter," Derek called, catching up to him at the bottom of the porch steps. He put a hand on Peter's shoulder. " _Stop._ "

"Stiles' life is in danger," Peter said, turning on his heel. "And so are the twins. Do you really think I'm going to wait here with my thumb up my ass?"

"And how much blood did you just give Deaton?"

"Less than you gave the kitchen floor," Peter snapped.

" _How much_ , Peter?"

Peter glared up at his nephew. "Not enough to stop me."

"I'm not saying stop," Derek replied. "I'm saying wait."

"He's right," the Sheriff said, pulling himself to his feet.

In the porch light, Peter could better see the bruised and battered mess that the Desert Wolf had made of Stilinski's face. He could tell by the strength of the man's heartbeat that he would be fine, eventually, but neither he nor Derek were in fighting shape.

"I don't like it anymore than you do," the Sheriff continued. "In fact, I'm fighting every instinct not to go after him myself. But we need bigger numbers on this one."

"We don't have time for numbers!" Peter shouted back. "You don't know what he'll do--what he _does_."

"I know he has to have a plan," the Sheriff replied. "This whole time, he's had one. And someone's paying him to do this, so he needs to do it right. That means he still needs Stiles if he wants to keep the twins alive long enough to get paid."

"If six of us couldn't stop him together," Derek said, "what do you think you can do on your own?"

Peter held the silence for a moment. Then he narrowed his eyes at his nephew. "I guess I'll find out."

He returned to his car before they could say anything else to stop him. Backing out of the yard, he put the windows down and peeled off down the road.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter plays into the Desert Wolf's hands as Derek sets to questioning the man who broke the barrier.

"I know you're awake now, pup," the Desert Wolf cooed in Scott's ear. "Don't be bashful. Let me see the red of your eyes."

Scott fought an extreme fatigue to get a look around him. He was too weak to shift. His head dropped backward and he saw that his hands were bound together above him, supporting his weight where he hung from the ceiling. His feet twitched, trying to touch floor, but he was a few inches too far to make it. He glanced sideways to find a rolling metal cart beside him. Three bags of blood sat on top.

"Is that...?"

"Yours?" The Desert Wolf nodded. "Ladies and gentlemen, the true alpha isn't as dumb as he looks." He ruffled Scott's hair and attached another bag to the end of a long tube.

Scott followed the length of the tube to its starting point - his own arm - and that was when he noticed another pair of bags on the floor, attached to ports in the tops of his feet. They were both filled with blood.

"I'm working with gravity," the Desert Wolf told him with a smile.

"Stiles..." Scott pleaded, his voice weak. "Don't hurt him. Please. You have me. Just let him go."

"I have you, which means you don't get to make requests," the Desert Wolf replied. "Although I will say this: if he makes it through the delivery, I'll let him live."

"Delivery?" Scott's speech slurred with the growing loss of blood.

"It seems my appearance in his home scared him into early labor," the Desert Wolf said. "Not sure how the Hale kid is gonna fare." He gave Scott a hard smack on the cheek and grinned. "But your daughter is scrappy, Mister True Alpha. She's ready for this world."

Scott felt himself slip further away from it all as energy drained from his body.

"Now I'm not gonna kill you, Scott." The Desert Wolf picked up one of the bags from the floor and removed it from the tubing line, then sealed it. "I'm going to leave you with just enough blood to stay alive. You see, the big bad wolf is on his way here. If you're dead, he'll come straight for the boy and the little pups. But if you're still alive when he gets here, well... then he _has_ to try to save you."

Scott let out a weak laugh. "You don't know Peter very well, do you?"

The Desert Wolf packed up the four bags of blood in a small cooler. He turned to pluck the other bag from the floor.

"You'll probably pass out again, and very soon by the look of it. Any parting words?"

"I only have one thing to say."

"Which is?"

"Peter's gonna kill you." Lifting his head, gathering all his strength, Scott met his enemy's eyes.

The Desert Wolf let out a huff of laughter. "And how do you know that?"

"Because he's part of my pack. And my pack always wins."

Tipping his head back, Scott released an alpha roar that shook the walls around them.

\----------

As Peter's car disappeared down the road, Melissa appeared in the doorway of the house. "That was Peter?"

The Sheriff nodded. "He's tracking their scent."

She gave them a nod and knelt, holding herself up by the porch railing, to examine the Sheriff's gunshot wound. "Good," she said. "Now what are we going to do in the meantime?"

Derek headed for the Sheriff's cruiser, still holding the cut in his abdomen closed. It was deep, and it was made by an alpha, so it was taking longer to heal. Still, it wouldn't hold him back from the task at hand.

Derek pulled the back door of the cruiser open and grabbed the man inside by the back of his shirt collar, hauling him out onto the lawn.

"He didn't make them stop..." the man said, his voice a barely audible mumble. He continued muttering things, and Derek saw that he'd been crying.

The man crumpled when Derek let him go, dropping to his knees. He was a mess, and clearly not mentally well. There was no malicious intent here on his part, and Derek hesitated to torture the man any further than the Desert Wolf might've already done.

"Hey," Derek said gently, taking a knee beside the man. He put a hand on his shoulder, and siphoned some of the anguish away. It wouldn't cure whatever ailed him, but it might help him attain enough lucidity to give them the information they needed.

The man's mumbling subsided, and he looked at Derek, directly in the eyes. "Who are you?"

"My name is Derek. What's yours?"

The man's eyes drifted, and he looked at a spot over Derek's shoulder. "I don't know."

He hadn't noticed Malia approaching until she was nearly upon them. Her eyes were burning bright blue and her fangs were out.

"Where is he?" she asked the man. "The Desert Wolf - where did you see him?"

"I don't know!" the man shouted. "There were voices... and he brought me here... who are you people?!"

"Malia," Derek scolded. "Step back."

"He knows where we can find Stiles," Malia said. "It's somewhere in his mind, Derek. You know what you need to do."

"We don't know for sure--"

"Fuck it," Malia said, stepping forward. "If Peter can do it then so can I."

"Malia, don't!"

Derek reached out to stop her, causing him to let go of his side, but he was too late. Her claws disappeared into the back of the man's neck. Malia's eyes flashed brighter as the man arched back, mouth wide in shock.

Derek held the man upright, returning his free hand to his open wound. He winced in pain because the healing wasn't going fast enough for his liking. If he'd been healed already, he could've stopped Malia. As it was, she was likely doing more damage than good and they wouldn't get anything out of the guy.

Malia pulled her claws free, stumbling backward, a fresh line of blood dripping from her nose. She collapsed to the ground, her breathing heavy, but she caught herself on her hands.

"You shouldn't have done that!" Derek shouted. The man fell sideways himself, eyes drooping, and Derek's only option was to help him fall without hurting himself.

"I saw it, Derek," Malia said, panting between words. "The building. It's downtown. I know where Stiles is."

The Sheriff stepped off the porch, easing himself down the steps but no less determined for the slowness. "Where?"

"I'll know it when I see it," she replied. "Where're Peter and Scott?"

"Scott was taken, too," the Sheriff informed her.

"Peter took off to follow their scent," Derek added.

"And you didn't go with him?"

Derek pushed to his feet. "We can't fight without numbers, and certainly not in this condition."

"Someone give me a car. I'll find him."

"Malia, you already tried fighting him! And look where it got you!"

"I won't be alone," Malia said. "Peter will already be there if he's tracking them."

"Malia..."

" _Keys_."

"I'll take you," Braeden called out. She limped around the house from the back yard, shotgun under her arm. "I wanna get this bastard _tonight_."

Derek heaved a sigh. "I'm coming with you."

"You sure about that?" the Sheriff asked.

"Chris is on his way over," Derek replied. "Get yourself and Melissa to the clinic and get stitched up."

The Sheriff pointed a stern finger at him. "As soon as you find the place..."

Derek nodded. "I'll let you know."

Then he followed Malia to Braeden's SUV and climbed into the back seat.

\----------

Scott's scent had been the strongest to follow, perhaps because he'd been hurt at the house and left a blood trail behind him. Whatever the reason, Peter approached the warehouse with caution, switching off his headlights before the front of the building came into view.

With quiet vigilance, Peter made his way into the abandoned three-story structure. Peter remembered all too well what Beacon Hills used to be; this building had once held shops on the bottom floor, with offices on the second and third floors. Now it was hollowed out and broken.

Scott's scent grew stronger when Peter entered the stairwell. He made his way up, tracking the boy to the third floor.

What worried him was that Scott's scent was the only one there. He found no evidence of Stiles having been there at all. Had he followed a red herring to a dead end? Could the Desert Wolf have masked his own scent that well?

But the trail ended at a closed door, and when he pushed it open he was hit with a strong wave of defiance and rage.

Scott hung from the ceiling, bound by his wrists, seemingly dead.

His heartbeat was faint, so faint that Peter hadn't heard it from the hallway. Immediately, he rushed to action, grabbing the young alpha around the legs to lift his own weight off his arms, then slashed the ropes binding him. Scott dropped forward, his full weight on Peter.

He laid Scott out on the floor and set to reviving him.

"Scott? Can you hear me?" He checked the boy's arms and his naked feet and saw the needle marks. The Desert Wolf had nearly drained him dry. But why leave him alive?

"Peter?"

Scott's eyes opened, half-lidded, and he glanced lazily around him.

"Hey, stay with me now," Peter said. "I'm gonna get you out of here and then you're gonna tell me where Stiles is."

Scott tried shaking his head, but it only looked like a twitch. "He took him... somewhere else. I don't know..."

"Come on," Peter said, hauling Scott up into his arms.

"What are you--?"

"We have to get you to Deaton's," Peter told him.

Scott found enough strength to protest the idea. "No, Stiles... you have to find him... leave me here, tell the others... please."

"I'm not leaving you here to die," Peter said. "So shut up and let me save your life."

"It was part of his plan," Scott said. "He knew you'd save me. I was counting on him being wrong."

"Try counting on me instead," Peter said.

Peter felt Scott give up all his weight, tired out by the small resistance. He didn't care what kind of plan the Desert Wolf had, what he thought he knew about him - about any of them. Peter knew he would find the Desert Wolf and kill him.

That was all the plan he needed.

\----------

Derek dug his claws into his knee as Braeden sped down the main streets and side streets as Malia directed the way. He felt his healing speed up the more pain he put himself through, but he still didn't know if it would be enough in time.

"There!" Malia pointed to the small, old office building.

Derek took a whiff, searched for a scent, and found one. Two, actually - one he'd expected and one he hadn't.

"Peter's already here," Derek told them.

"I know," Malia said. She was out the door before Braeden put on the parking brake.

"The Desert Wolf isn't here now, if he was before," Derek told Braeden. They followed Malia, Derek faster now that he'd healed some. At least he didn't have to hold his wound closed anymore.

Malia got the door open, took a few steps inside, then hurried back out, holding the door. Her eyes were wide and blue, a fury rolling through her that Derek could feel in the air around them.

He watched, almost as if in slow motion, as Peter marched out of the building, a still and limp Scott McCall in his arms.

"Scott!" Derek rushed forward and took Scott when Peter handed him over.

"Get him to the clinic," Peter told him. "He's lost a lot of blood."

"Stiles?"

Peter only shook his head.

"I'm coming with you," Malia said, following Peter to his car.

Derek watched them peel off and turned back to Braeden, eager to get Scott to Deaton's as quickly as possible.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek learns where Stiles is being held.

Stiles woke without the ability to move much, two thick strong bands pinning him across the shoulders. He could flex his fingers and toes, lift his head a little, and that was it. His arms were bound to the table beneath him, restrained at the elbows and wrists. His legs were spread wide, bent and tied at the knee, while his feet were strapped down to metal stirrups. A sheet covered him from the waist down. When his brain came back online enough to tell, he realized he wasn't wearing his pants anymore.

The twins were still inside him; he could feel them dancing around in his belly, despite the contractions that had roused him. He only hoped they were truly ready to be born this time, and that rescue would come before the Desert Wolf had a chance to snatch them from him with force.

And as if his very thoughts had summoned him, the Desert Wolf entered the spacious room, pushing a rolling cart ahead of him. The cart was metal, with a cloth draped over the top so Stiles couldn't make out what it carried. He'd seen such carts before, in the Beacon Hills hospital and at Deaton's clinic. Whatever the Desert Wolf was rolling towards him couldn't be any good.

"Let me tell you why this is happening," the Desert Wolf spoke.

"I already know why," Stiles replied, trying desperately to remain brave in the face of his imminent demise. "You wanted Scott. You wanted his blood."

The Desert Wolf grinned, a broad sneer of delight. "And now I have that and so much more."

"You can let Scott go," Stiles said. "You have me, just release him."

"Or I could keep him and release you," the Desert Wolf said. "Or I could keep you both... and make more than double my original price."

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut tight, wishing it were all just a bad dream.

"While I did plan on catching a true alpha in the snare, I didn't plan on someone figuring out a way to free him, nor did I plan on that someone being you." The Desert Wolf stroked a line across the low part of Stiles' stomach, sending a chill through Stiles with his touch. "I definitely didn't plan on this."

Stiles swallowed, a thickness in his throat he couldn't shake. "Good for you?"

"It pays to be flexible with your plans," the Desert Wolf replied. "You never know what goodies will fall into your lap." He extended his claws, and Stiles felt the barest hint of piercing skin as the claw-tips pushed forward.

"Please let me go," Stiles pleaded. "If it's money you want--"

"You're not a hostage, Stiles," the Desert Wolf said. "You're an incubator. Besides, you couldn't afford to buy your way out of this anyway."

"You don't have to do this. Please," Stiles begged, near tears already. "Just let me go."

The Desert Wolf clicked his tongue. "You already know I won't do that."

"You haven't hurt us yet."

He flashed alpha-red eyes and grinned. "No, but I'm going to."

"Deaton said... he said they're not ready. You won't get what they're worth!"

"That's a nice try, boy," the Desert Wolf said. He traced claws around Stiles' belly, over to the side where Leia was. "But, in actuality, one of them _is_ ready, and incidentally it's the one that I need."

"But you need both of them!" Stiles felt his pulse soaring.

"And I have both of them. The other one is going to die. Call it revenge."

"What?!? Revenge for what??"

The Desert Wolf snarled. "For Peter taking off with the last one and letting Talia hide it from me. Granted, the Hale child you're carrying isn't his, per se. But it'll do."

He'd already known he was likely to die soon, but now, to know that one of the twins wouldn't survive? That terrified him more than his own demise. He couldn't accept it.

Then his brain caught on to what the Desert Wolf had just told him. "Wait. How do you know one's a Hale?"

"You could say we... have a _connection_."

"The etheric cord."

"Very good, son! You've done your homework."

He lifted Stiles' shirt and put a hand on his stomach. His veins darkened with the pain. Then he stopped, exhaling softly, delight in his eyes.

"I think we can start now," he said.

"What does that mean?" Stiles' pulse quickened, air leaving his lungs as a panic attack overcame him. "What does that...?" He didn't have the breath to continue. His head dropped down onto the mattress of the stretcher, his vision clouding over.

"Don't worry, my boy," the Desert Wolf replied, producing a syringe with a long needle. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

Stiles tried to shrink away as the needle was pressed into his skin, but there was nowhere for him to go.

"Now, to be honest, I've only used this on women before," the Desert Wolf added, with an air of confession. "I have no idea what it'll do an eighteen year old boy." He gave Stiles' cheek a light smack. "But I have a back-up plan in case it fails. Don't you worry about that."

Stiles felt himself slipping under, wondering if it was the drugs or the remnants of his panic that had him dancing with unconsciousness once more.

\----------

Tied up and bled dry should have been the end of Scott's problems, he figured. Instead, he'd drifted in and out of consciousness, his body going numb from his position.

When he finally managed to keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds, he was no longer hanging from the ceiling. In fact, he was no longer tied up at all. There was light at play with shadow, and he could make out shapes; blinking into focus, he found himself surrounded with recognizable faces and objects.

He was in the clinic.

"Welcome back, Scott," Deaton said. "I was afraid we'd lost you."

"Yeah. Me, too."

"Peter's tracking Stiles by scent," Derek told him. "But if you can tell us anything, it might help find him faster."

Scott shook his head, stopping when it made his vision swim. "I don't know... I was out, the whole way there. Didn't see the building."

"Even unconscious," Deaton told him, "your brain may have picked up on sounds or scents without your awareness. Can you try to find something you heard or smelled?"

Scott shut his eyes, willing himself back to the moment the Desert Wolf knocked him out cold. He was vaguely aware of his werewolf senses remaining intact, just under the surface of his mind, but there was nothing he could make out from it besides the scent of blood.

The very same scent he'd smelled on Peter's car.

"All I could smell was Stiles," Scott said. "And the twins. Their blood..."

Derek growled at his words. "Their blood?"

Scott looked to Derek then, an idea flashing through his thoughts. "You can find it faster than I can. Whatever I experienced while I was out... you can get to it first."

Derek's expression tightened, but he gave no protest. "Are you sure?"

"We have to find him, Derek."

It was all the permission Derek needed. Scott felt claws sink into the back of his neck and his wolf sprang to the surface, the light in the room turning red as he started to shift. He arched off the exam table with a roar, his wolf ready to throw Derek off him. His human side was so weak, he might've done it, too, but Derek retreated, removing his claws from Scott's nape.

It seemed only a second went by. He collapsed against the exam table, panting as Derek and Deaton kept him from completely falling off it.

"Are you okay?" Derek shouted at him. "Scott, look at me!"

Scott found just enough strength to grab tightly to Derek's wrist and level a stern glare at him. "Did it work?"

"Yeah, Scott, it worked," Derek confirmed. "I know where Stiles is."

\----------

Peter hadn't been able to pick up Stiles' scent again once he left Scott with Derek and Braeden. Infuriated wasn't a strong enough word for how he felt about that, as his grip on the steering wheel could attest. He felt the hard plastic under the rubber grip splintering as his hands tightened around it again.

"We're going to find him," Malia said.

Peter wasn't sure if she was saying that to convince herself or him. He knew she cared for Stiles as a friend, but her determination to find him nearly matched Peter's own, and part of him couldn't help but see it as the one bit of himself she carried in her blood.

Malia's phone lit up in her lap, distracting Peter for a fraction of a second. Probably just Derek wanting to know where he was, if he'd found anything yet, how he was worried Peter would waste his efforts when they could be gathering strength or whatever.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice a low snarl.

"It's from Derek," Malia said, looking to her phone. "It's an address."

"What?"

She showed him the message. "Do you know where that is?"

Peter slammed on the brake and whipped the steering wheel around, pointing them in the opposite direction.

Malia dropped her phone as she was flung against the door. "I'll take that as a yes." Picking up her phone, she saw another message. "He says Stiles is there. He's on his way with others. He wants us to hang back."

Peter scoffed, speeding onward towards their new destination. "Not gonna happen."

"Will we get there before Derek?"

"We might."

"Is that what we want?" Malia pressed the issue. "Going in with numbers isn't a bad idea."

"This isn't the time to wait," Peter replied. "We're going in when we get there."

Malia shook her head. "Scott must've known something."

" _I_ should've known," Peter seethed, his knuckles pale white as he proceeded to take his rage out on the steering wheel again.

"How could you have known?"

"Because that's where he took me eighteen years ago," Peter replied. "When I was pregnant with you."

Malia said nothing in reply, but Peter felt the atmosphere in the car shift. There was a surge of warmth between them, a brief little flash that was gone as quick as it'd come, but it was a start.

"We're going to save him, Peter," Malia assured him.

This time, Peter felt the strength of her resolve in his very soul, a new stirring of pack.

His grip on the steering wheel eased as he pressed the pedal closer to the floor. He let his eyes flash blue and scented the air. It was faint, but this time he caught it.

Not just Stiles this time. He smelled the twins, too. They were getting closer.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescue arrives.

Stiles awoke to the door being thrown open and the Desert Wolf striding towards him with purpose. He had no idea how long he'd been out, but the pain in his abdomen had grown to a widespread ache, and it seemed to him that even drugs wouldn't keep him from feeling it.

"I'm sorry, young man, but my patience is finally wearing thin." The Desert Wolf raised the sheet covering Stiles' lower half.

Stiles felt fingers sliding into his rectum, stretching him as they moved. If he hadn't been so weary, Stiles might have screamed or fought back, but as it was he could only lie there and take it.

The Desert Wolf gave him a frown. "Well, that's disappointing," he said. "Either the drug didn't work or it's taking too long. But the result is the same." He tugged at the straps holding Stiles down, testing the strength of their hold. "Full dilation or not, those babies are coming out now."

Stiles was too weak to protest.

"I'll just have to take them the old fashioned way."

The Desert Wolf positioned his claws below the swell of Stiles' belly, poised to tear through him.

Just like in his dream.

\----------

Peter fought down flashbacks as he pulled in front of the four-story brick building. Some of its windows were long since broken; apparently it hadn't seen use in the eighteen years from when he'd last been there. There were moments still missing, memories he hadn't let surface yet. They were jumping to come to the forefront of his thoughts now, instances of pain and desperation that he didn't need to be facing at a time like this.

By his side, Malia huffed a breath, scenting the air inside the car. "Peter?"

He loosened his grip on the wheel when Malia said his name. He hadn't realized he'd been squeezing it that time.

"Was it really that bad?" she asked.

Peter drew in a long breath, calming himself, easing the likely panic that she was smelling.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right." She must've gotten the hint, because she left it at that.

Peter parked the Navigator and they both headed to front door. Before they could enter, Malia threw out an arm, catching Peter across the chest. "Wait."

"Why?"

" _Smell_ that," she told him.

Peter could smell it already; she didn't need to point it out.

"I've been able to smell him for miles now," Peter told her, pushing past her to the door. "Let's go."

"I'm not talking about Stiles." She blocked his way again, bringing them face to face. Then she reached for the handle of the door, hand hovering over it. Before she could grasp the handle, a bright blue glow appeared in the air between her hand and the door, spreading out like a burst of electricity as she pressed into it. She pulled her hand back.

Peter felt a rumble stir in his chest. "Mountain ash."

"Derek's bringing Braeden," Malia said. "She'll be able to get us in."

"Stiles may not have that long!" Peter shouted. He pulled Malia aside and made for the door, but the mountain ash barrier blasted him back.

"Like that helps!" Malia folded her arms over her chest and just watched as Peter pulled himself back to his feet.

Peter paced a moment, wracking his brain for the solution to this new problem. Scott could push through a barrier when it mattered; Peter should be able to do the same.

But he couldn't. And the fact left him reeling, rendered useless.

Peter shifted, dropping fangs and claws, and let out a mighty roar.

\----------

Stiles waited for it, held his breath as the tips of the Desert Wolf's claws began to prickle his skin. It was like he had to wait for something before he could tear into Stiles and remove his prize. What that something was, Stiles shuddered to imagine.

From somewhere outside the building, he heard a loud roar; the structure around them shook with it, and Stiles was nearly deafened.

Even the Desert Wolf scrunched up his eyes and flinched at the sound.

But then he smiled, standing straight and staring down at Stiles with delight in his eyes. "Hear that, my boy? Daddy's home."

Then he sunk his claws into Stiles' abdomen, ripping through the flesh beneath his belly button.

No drugs in the world could have kept Stiles from screaming out at that moment, a cry that nearly matched the strength of the werewolf's outside.

\----------

Malia watched in awe as the building gave up a few spare chunks of debris at the force of Peter's roar.

Then the sound of an approaching vehicle drew her attention back to the road. Peter marched towards it, forcing Braeden to come to a stop in front of him. Derek stepped out first. The back doors opened and the Sheriff exited with Kira.

"I was sure you wouldn't wait," Derek said.

Peter glared at his nephew. "He's using mountain ash."

"The whole building is made out of it," Malia added.

As soon as the words left Peter's mouth, Braeden rushed to the door to let them inside. Peter and Derek moved past her to hurry up the stairs together.

And then, even from the first floor, Derek and Peter both heard the howl of pain Stiles let out somewhere above them.

Peter forgot everything and pushed harder up the dilapidated staircase, clearing four floors and several broken steps in a few heartbeats. He reached the top floor and followed Stiles' scent to the right apartment. The air was fouled by the smell of the boy's blood, urging Peter deeper into his rage.

The door was unlocked when Peter tried it, sending the door flying on its hinges with the force he used to open it.

The Desert Wolf spun, alpha-red eyes glowing at the intrusion, to see Peter standing there in the doorway. "I wondered when you'd arrive," he said. He pulled his claws out of Stiles' belly, blood dripping from the wounds. "You're just in time for all the fun."

Peter's eyes found Stiles, unconscious on the exam table, and he let out a fresh roar, fangs and claws bared. From behind him, a bullet whizzed by his ear, lodging in the alpha's arm.

The alpha reared back, growling in anger, and then a shotgun shell blasted through him. He fell back against the wall with a graceless thud, but remained on his feet.

From behind Peter, Malia vaulted herself into the air, slashing down on the Desert Wolf as she landed. She grabbed a handful of his long hair and jammed her claws into his side. Then Kira stepped forward, sword brandished, and stabbed into him, piercing his shoulder. Malia released him as a surge of electricity traveled down the sword, building until it reached its mark. Kira forced him to his knees as the fox spirit overtook her.

Kira's fox enveloped the Desert Wolf, sending him into wrenching spasms, his red eyes burning brighter until they returned to their human color. The Desert Wolf's claws and fangs retracted, and then the fox receded, leaving Kira breathless and shaking.

The Desert Wolf stumbled back from the assault. He collapsed, his breathing heavy, Kira's sword sliding free of his body.

Braeden and the Sheriff lowered their guns, hurrying to Stiles' side. Braeden took off her over-shirt and pressed it to Stiles' belly, staunching the flow of blood while the Sheriff worked to free him from the exam table.

Peter stepped forward, placing himself between Stiles and the Desert Wolf, who glared up at him. The Desert Wolf began to laugh. "This isn't over, you know."

Then Peter noticed his wounds were already healing. "Get Stiles out of here," he commanded. "I'll deal with him."

"Peter, you can't--" Derek said, shaking his head.

"I can!" Peter snarled at Derek. "Go!"

"Derek!" Braeden called out. "You're the only one who can carry him out."

Before Derek could move another inch, the Desert Wolf jumped to his feet, his hand snapping out to grab Peter around the throat. His arm shook with the effort, but he would only get stronger as he healed. "No one's carrying him anywhere."

Kira stood at the ready, but the Desert Wolf was more prepared this time, and Kira was still weakened from her previous attack. As she swung her sword, the Desert Wolf caught it in one hand and broke it from her grasp. Then he backhanded Kira with such force she flew backward, hitting the wall and landing in a heap on the floor.

"Kira!" Malia ran to her side.

Then the Desert Wolf turned back to Peter and stuck his claws deep into Peter's gut. "You're looking well, Peter. I take it you remember me now?" He twisted his claws deeper, causing Peter to lose control of his shift.

"Get him out of here!" Peter shouted at the rest of the pack.

While Peter kept the Desert Wolf occupied, Derek scooped Stiles up into his arms and hauled ass for the door. Braeden and the Sheriff followed on his heels as he descended the stairs.

Malia caught Peter's eyes, ready to fight.

"Go now!" he shouted at her.

Looking back to an unconscious Kira, Malia hesitated.

Then Peter roared and slashed the Desert Wolf from navel to chin in a smooth upward motion, all his fury evident in the attack. The Desert Wolf released him, and Peter tackled him to the floor, sliding with him to the back wall.

He held nothing back, slashing and tearing into his enemy. The alpha fought with as much might as Peter, and for a moment it seemed they would fight until they killed themselves from exhaustion.

Malia felt a surge of power coming from Peter, smelled the confidence of his rage in the air. Then she turned and hoisted Kira off the floor, carrying her out of that building and towards Peter's car.

She couldn't help a small smile as she drove for the clinic.

\----------

Stiles groaned and gripped the back of Derek's shirt, bunching it tightly in one hand while he held his wound closed with the other. The descent down the stairs had jarred him from unconsciousness, but he still felt so weary.

"You're gonna be all right," Derek insisted. "Deaton's waiting for us."

"Dad?"

"I'm right behind you, kiddo," the Sheriff said. "Save your strength."

A loud roar echoed above them, bouncing on the walls of the collapsing structure.

"That sounded like Peter," the Sheriff noted.

"He'll be fine," Derek said, his voice wavering in a way that only he seemed to notice.

Braeden took the lead and held the door for Derek, the Sheriff reaching Braeden's SUV first and helping Derek get Stiles inside.

"So much blood," Stiles whimpered. "The twins..."

"You're gonna be okay," Derek said. He held Stiles close to him as Braeden pulled them onto the road, racing down it at increasing speeds.

The Sheriff leaned forward from the backseat, eyes darting from the road back to Stiles. He held his son's legs in his lap, helping Derek keep him secure as possible as they sped towards the clinic.

"Where... Scott?"

"He's fine, Stiles," Derek replied. "You're gonna see him soon, so hold on."

Stiles let out a shout of pain, clutching his stomach tighter.

"What is it?" Derek asked, panic in his voice.

"It's Leia," Stiles mumbled. "Think she's coming..."

"Hold on!" Braeden called, making a sharp turn.

Derek and the Sheriff kept Stiles stable and braced themselves, leaning with the momentum of the car.

"Stilinski..." Derek touched his thigh. It was growing damp with Stiles' blood.

"Stiles?" The Sheriff clamped a hand over his son's, pressing the shirt tighter against him. "Hold on, son."

Stiles' breath came in ragged gasps at that point. He was holding back, trying not to let Leia be born in the backseat of a car.

"I can't stop it... He gave... drug, gave me a drug, I can't stop..." Stiles babbled in apology. "I have to push."

"It's fine, Stiles," Derek said, pushing aside the sheet with the Sheriff's assistance. "Don't try to stop it. She's strong enough now." He cupped Stiles' cheek, adding, "And so are you."

Stiles nodded and pushed, the effort required far below what he expected. If he weren't so dizzy from blood loss and shock, he might've taken a moment to register how weird it felt for his insides to shift the way they did for Leia's passage into the world. Later he would joke about this, he would have to if he wanted to process it at all. But for now, he couldn't joke or freak out, couldn't even question how he knew it was Leia coming first; he could only let it happen.

Stiles squeezed someone's hand, and cried through the pain.

The car filled with the sound of a wailing infant. Stiles felt relief, immense and wonderful, and then everything went black.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the final showdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one night! :D

The Desert Wolf flung Peter off of him, the impact of the werewolf's body taking out a chunk of the wall.

Peter fell to the floor in a slump, mouth and hands bloody. Red ran thick down the front of his shirt, his own blood mixed with the Desert Wolf's. He couldn't count the number of wounds he'd sustained. Some of them had already begun to heal, but there were too many to make a full return before... Well, he was done-for anyway. He'd take the bastard alpha along with him. He had to.

"You should've known this fight wouldn't end well," the Desert Wolf said. He was already mostly healed, a gash across his chest the only wound left to close up. "When I'm done killing you, I'll find the boy again. I will _always_ find him, as long as that child is inside him. And if she's already been born, then I'll find her instead."

"You did create one," Peter mumbled.

"Create one what?"

"An etheric cord," Peter said. He glared at the alpha, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. "How?"

"A piece of the Nemeton, a little bit of my blood in the soil, and Bob's your uncle," the Desert Wolf said. "There were a couple more steps, after I realized what happened, but that was how it began."

Peter sat up, rolling onto all fours, faintly scratching his human fingernails against the wood floor.

"Give up now, and I'll make it quick," the Desert Wolf told him.

Peter chuckled, the sound ominous and dark in the otherwise quiet room. He could hear his own failing heartbeat, a sharp contrast to the strong pulsing of the alpha before him.

_The alpha,_ his brain repeated at him.

Peter went quiet, his breathing shallow.

"Unless you'd rather die from your injuries," the Desert Wolf said.

"No," Peter whispered. "You made me... You made me love you once," he said, stalling for just enough time to get his body to cooperate with him. Blood filled his mouth; it didn't matter. He clutched his stomach and spat the blood to the floor, continuing as if his internal injuries were only a vague nuisance. "At least, I thought it was love. You wanted something from me. And when I figured it out..."

"It wasn't personal, kid."

Peter finally looked up. "Then why?"

"Because you were a Hale," the Desert Wolf replied. He stepped close and wrapped a clawed hand under Peter's chin, tipping his head further back, baring Peter's neck. Peter leaned so willingly into the touch, the Desert Wolf smiled at him for it. "And because you were easy."

"You wanted me to remember all of that before you killed me?" Peter jerked away from him but his grip held firm, keeping Peter in place.

"When I couldn't get you away from Stiles, I figured I would use you. Finally find out the name of our daughter."

"If you think I'll let you anywhere _near_ -"

The Desert Wolf pushed the tips of his claws into the back of Peter's neck, cutting off Peter's words as he scanned his memories.

Peter went still, his body locking in place.

"Ah, there she is," the Desert Wolf said, his voice a soft croon. He plucked his claws free, hand still tight around Peter's throat.

Peter gasped for breath upon his release, the tension in his muscles leaving him so quickly he nearly collapsed.

"Malia Tate," the Desert Wolf said, smiling down at him. "She was fighting by your side tonight."

Mustering every last ounce of resistance, Peter pushed up to his knees, grabbing hold of the Desert Wolf's wrist. He twisted it, but there was little give to his struggle. "You're in for a hell of a fight if you think she'll be sold quietly."

The Desert Wolf let out a soft _tsk_. "I don't want to sell her, Peter. Goodness, no. That'd be such a waste."

"Then what?"

"She'll be perfect for breeding," he replied.

"And now's the perfect time to tell you how much you disgust me," Peter spat.

A splatter of blood landed on the Desert Wolf's shirt, but he didn't seem to notice. Instead, he let out a small mocking whimper. "Oh, darn it! I didn't get the not-so-coveted Peter Hale seal of approval. Whatever will I do?"

Peter's eyes narrowed with resolve. A snarl unfurled, low and resonant, in his chest. At his side, he extended his claws again. He had one chance; he needed to make it count.

The Desert Wolf gave Peter a light shake. "Time to make a choice, Peter. What'll it be: Easy death?" With his thumb, he smeared Peter's own blood over his lips. "Or slow?"

With a steel grip, Peter caught the alpha's wrist, claws sinking past bone. The Desert Wolf cried out, dropping to one knee.

"Slow," Peter said, rising to his feet. He towered over him, twisting his arm back as he tightened his hold on him.

The Desert Wolf laughed. "You think that changes anything?" He lurched upward, stabbing claws into Peter's sternum. With great force, he hauled Peter over his head and laid him out on the floor. Peter's own claws fell loose from their hold, his hand falling beside him as the Desert Wolf dragged him up. "The Hales always did say the bite is a gift," he taunted, holding Peter by the front of his shirt. He easily tipped him sideways, snaking one arm around him as he sank fangs into Peter's shoulder.

Peter let out an agonized shout as the alpha tore away a chunk of his flesh.

The Desert Wolf turned to spit the bite from his mouth, and in that moment, Peter saw his opportunity return.

Gathering everything he had left, he slashed into the alpha, separating muscle from rib cage as he ripped into his chest. He ignored the anguished scream pouring directly into his ear and punched into him, settling fingers and claws around his target.

"You seem to enjoy tearing people's hearts out," Peter said, pulling with all the strength he had. He felt the organ give, tendons and blood vessels snapping with the strain.

"I never--" The Desert Wolf gasped, gurgling blood flooding his mouth.

"You did when you took Stiles," Peter said with a rasp. "Let me show you how that feels."

The smooth ball of muscle tore free from its remaining tethers as Peter pulled it from the alpha's torso.

The Desert Wolf sneered, gave a soft chuckle, and slumped in Peter's arm.

With the heart still in his hand, Peter let the dead weight fall to the floor. He stumbled backwards, felt himself hit the exam table, and slid down with his back against it as he watched the heart expand and contract once, and then again, and then stop. He held onto it, blood dripping down his arm as he stared.

Then it happened, a familiar pulse of strength infusing him, and Peter felt his insides reorganize themselves to their proper arrangement. He let out a roar as the alpha power came over him, felt a full shift overtake him; as he took to all fours once more, he crushed the Desert Wolf's heart under his monstrous paw.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deaton and Melissa rush to save Stiles, while Peter finds he has one more mission before he can rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we're getting very close to finished. Only two or three more chapters after this one!
> 
> THANK YOU again to all the readers who've stuck it out for this very long, involved, convoluted WIP. You are all amazing. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Scott wasn't alone the next time he woke, but his surroundings had changed again. He was in Deaton's office now, on the couch, an IV set up beside him. He felt stronger, and wondered whose blood he'd been given. Probably Peter's, since it was the only blood available.

Only now Scott feared that there wouldn't be enough for Stiles if he needed it, too.

Lydia must've heard him shifting his position on the couch. She turned around and hurried to his side, trying to help stabilize his movements, but it was no longer necessary. He wasn't at full strength yet, but he had his balance back.

"They found Stiles," Lydia said.

Scott was glad she knew him so well.

"Malia called. She said they're on their way here."

"Good." Scott nodded, sitting fully upright. "Is he okay?"

Lydia shook her head. "I don't know." She tried a faint smile. "On the plus side, I've felt zero inclination to scream today."

"That's definitely a plus," Scott agreed.

The faint howling of a wolf echoed outside the clinic's walls. Lydia and Scott both looked to the direction it had come from.

Scott knew that howl. There was something different about it this time, and yet something so familiar, an old string plucked anew. But this time, it wasn't a rallying call to come when bidden. This time, it was an announcement. Scott found himself feeling strangely renewed by it.

"Scott?" Lydia stared at him; he met her eyes. "What is it?"

"That was Peter," Scott told her. "He did it. He killed the Desert Wolf."

\----------

Sheriff Stilinski stared down at his newborn granddaughter and frowned. She was perfect and beautiful and he should be happy to be the first to hold her. But Stiles had passed out almost as soon as she was born, and he was bleeding too much for John to be anything but worried.

Melissa was outside with Deaton when they pulled up to the clinic. She helped Derek get Stiles out and onto a gurney. The Sheriff followed them inside with Leia in his arms, wrapped in his jacket.

"He's lost a lot of blood," Derek said, but he hadn't needed to say it. Stiles was covered in it, as were John and Derek.

As Deaton and Melissa rolled Stiles inside to the main exam room, John saw Scott making his way to the waiting area, with Lydia helping to hold him up.

"Stiles?" Scott called to him. He leaned against the reception counter, taking his weight off of Lydia.

John found Lydia's expression unreadable as she stared down at Stiles' unmoving body, and he wondered what might be going through her mind. Could she see his death coming? Had she felt the urge to scream that night?

John shivered. He put such thoughts aside and returned to the matter at hand.

"I need to help them," he said. "Can one of you take her?"

"I'll take her," Lydia said, gingerly removing the fussy infant from the Sheriff's arms.

"Thanks." John gave her a nod. Then he gave Scott's shoulder a gentle squeeze and headed to the back.

He came into the exam room to find Derek scrubbing up while Deaton and Melissa hooked Stiles to monitors and an IV line.

John quickly headed for the sink to scrub up alongside Derek.

"We're going to need more blood," Deaton said, even as he hung a bag of O-negative on a rack next to the gurney. "Where's Peter?"

"He stayed behind," Derek informed him, his voice soft.

"We need him," Deaton reminded him, draping a thin sheet over Stiles. "He's the only match for Stiles' blood type."

"Chris should be there by now," Derek said. "He took Isaac and Allison with him."

"I'll get Scott or Lydia to make the calls," John said to Derek. "I'm going back to that building myself."

\----------

Healing took time, even with the alpha power flowing through him. It'd been a while since he'd been an alpha but the full shift was easy to regain. It would help him to heal faster than a partial shift.

While most of his energy went to closing wounds and stitching his insides back together, Peter's mind went hazy, tripping through old memories he hadn't touched in years. One memory in particular flooded him with heartache.

He'd escaped the Desert Wolf once before. Like Stiles, Peter had been tied down, his former lover ready to excise their child from Peter's body. But Peter had gotten away, somehow... That memory wasn't as easy to access. He'd been so drugged up then, acting on pure instinct.

He found a cave and hid there, scared he could still be tracked by scent no matter how much he tried to cover it. As he waited for the drugs to wear off, the longer he went without food and rest. He felt himself waning. He'd strained to keep his hearing on the child's heartbeat; as long as it stayed strong, they would both be fine.

Then pain tore through him, like nothing he'd ever felt before. He curled into himself, willing it to stop, but it was no use. The ground grew wet beneath him as his water broke, his labor coming on fast.

As he continued to listen, the child's heartbeat began to falter, skipping beats and slowing too much to be healthy. He agonized over what to do, over whether he should try to give birth there or wait for help. But the more he waited, the slower the rhythm of the second heart inside him.

There was only one solution.

Lining his claws up just so, he stabbed into himself, opening his belly and the sac-like womb that had formed inside his body. He held back from making too much sound, even as his every movement magnified the pain. He pulled the infant free of his body; the umbilical caught up around her throat. Peter cleared her of the obstruction and she immediately let out a cry.

He'd held the baby beside him, laid them both out on the soft damp soil, and closed his eyes to wait, hoping it would be Talia who located him instead of the Desert Wolf.

Peter's memory of that event stopped there. The next time he opened his eyes, he would be in the clinic. His brain found that memory, too, but it wasn't quite the same.

In the fog of his current state, he didn't see Talia or Deaton; he saw someone else, someone who didn't belong in this memory.

"Hey," Stiles said. He smiled as Peter peered up at him. "How ya feeling?"

Peter looked around. The light was low, but he could still make out the blood staining the sheet that covered his body. He also noted that Stiles was no longer pregnant. There was a tiny spot of blood on Stiles' shirt, a spot that became a thin line across. In fact, the longer he stared at the boy's flat stomach, the more the specks of blood on his shirt grew and spread to cover him.

Jumping up, Peter threw the sheet off of him and tugged up Stiles' shirt. Four puncture marks marred his freckled skin, bleeding freely, drops landing on Stiles' shoes.

"Stiles? What's going on?"

"You have to wake up, Peter," Stiles told him. "I need you to wake up."

"You're losing a lot of blood, Stiles."

"I know. That's why I need you."

"There's blood at the clinic," Peter said, frantic. He gestured around them. " _Here_ , Stiles, there's blood _here_. My blood. That's where they took you. And where are the twins?"

"I need you to wake up, Peter," Stiles repeated. "Please." He leaned forward and kissed Peter softly. When he pulled back, there were two tiny infants in the boy's arms.

Peter's eyes widened. "Stiles, what...?"

Umbilical cords ran from Luke and Leia into Peter's arm like twin IVs.

"It wasn't just alpha power you inherited," Stiles said. He leaned closer and bundled the twins into Peter's arms. Then he took Peter's face in his hands and kissed him, a deep embrace that stirred his wolf to action. "Now, please, Peter. Wake up."

The room around him changed, and the twins and Stiles were suddenly gone.

Peter inhaled sharply, sitting up on the floor by the exam table. He was in his human form again, but he was whole, fully healed from all his wounds. He was covered in blood, his own and the Desert Wolf's--

_Blood,_ the word sounded in his ear like gong.

He burst into action, sprinting down the stairs and out of the building, testing his newfound connections as he ran. He could feel Leia's strong heartbeat even with the distance between them, could recognize it as well as his own pulse in his veins. Luke's was weaker, and fading, spurring Peter to push himself to go as fast as humanly possible.

But he needn't be human for this. The more he had to strain to feel Luke's pulse along the etheric cord, the easier it became to slip into his full wolf form, and moments later he was running so quickly that the world went by him in a blur.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rush to save Stiles, and a new hope for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word to the wise: if you can avoid working in food service, please do.
> 
> And only a tiny cliffhanger this chapter. ;)

Dying felt strange. He felt lighter somehow, yet heavy at the same time, like his veins contained lead and floated inside his hollowed-out body.

He didn't feel the twins moving anymore; if not for the slow thumping hum of his pulse, echoing out through his limbs, everything within him would be stillness and calm. It was the first time he ever felt peaceful. Everything he once cared about was out of his hands; he knew this with certainty.

He'd felt Peter's presence, at one point. Luke was still with him, still struggling for life inside him, and then Peter was there. The etheric cord vibrated anew, Peter replacing the Desert Wolf. It was a good sign, he realized; the twins would be safe. There was no need to worry.

Then the connection ended. Luke was gone, freed from the womb that was rapidly becoming his prison.

He heard voices, begging him to hold on. Derek's voice, Melissa's, Deaton's. And then his father's.

The twins would be okay without him though. They had Derek, Scott, Peter. The rest of the pack. He could let go now, if he wanted. But he didn't feel want or need anymore. Only quiet. Only the fading ebb of life.

He could let go.

\----------

Allison's eyes adjusted to the darkness, then widened at the sight before her.

The carnage was total and absolute. Blood colored every surface a dark red. The body of the Desert Wolf lay crumpled in the middle of the floor, in a puddle of crimson viscera.

Allison brought her arm over her nose at the smell. Her father seemed unphased by it.

She tried to imagine Stiles being in that room, how scared he must have been. Judging by the shock on Isaac's face, and the fact he'd hitched up the collar of his shirt to cover his mouth and nose against the stench, she knew that whatever happened had to have been worse than she could fathom.

Chris finally holstered his gun. "Finally some good news." He kicked the toe of his boot against the Desert Wolf's shoulder, tipping the body onto its side. There was a look of horror in the hollow open eyes, and a gaping hole in the middle of his chest, the skin around the wound hanging haphazardly in ragged slivers. "Looks like he died scared."

"Good," Isaac said, muffled under his shirt.

Allison stood by her father, examining the scene for herself. "If Peter killed him, that means he's an alpha now."

Chris nodded. "And where do you think an alpha Peter Hale would go?"

"Maybe he went to the clinic," Isaac replied.

Chris met Isaac's eyes. "Let's hope so."

\----------

Derek kept a running mental count, batting away errant thoughts that threatened to disturb his rhythm. He was in charge of the oxygen bag, pumping air into Stiles' lungs while Alan and Melissa rushed to stabilize him. Derek couldn't watch, had to keep his head down and his eyes locked on Stiles' expressionless face; he could still smell the blood though. Even with the paper mask covering his nose and mouth.

It hadn't been long since the Sheriff left to find Peter. Still felt like a lifetime to Derek. He was grateful beyond measure that Leia had been born all right, breathing on her own and her heartbeat fast and sharp in Derek's ears. But Luke's pulse was fading.

Sometimes, Derek wished he could shut off his heightened senses.

\----------

"She totally has your chin," Malia pointed out.

Scott looked up from Leia, half-smiling. They were in the waiting area, Malia and Kira having arrived shortly after Stiles was brought in. Much as he wanted to beam proudly at the little bundle in his arms, Scott was too worried about Stiles' well-being to let any joy fully take hold of him.

Malia paced mostly, while Kira sat with a bag of ice to her head. Lydia stood at the clinic's door, staring out into the night. She'd handed Leia over as soon as Scott was seated, as if she were a bomb more likely to go off in Lydia's arms, which did nothing to calm Scott's fears. Did she feel something coming, something none of the others could feel? Or was she just as worried as he was, and didn't want to feed his fears with the scent of her fright?

"I see him!"

Scott jerked his head up to watch Lydia slam the door open wide, making room for a dark brown wolf to come charging through it, bright red eyes burning sharp and dangerous.

The last time Scott had seen Peter in a full shift, he'd been a monstrous wolf-beast. In fact, none of them had ever seen Peter in a full shift like this one, like the one Derek had achieved a year ago. Scott hadn't even considered that Peter would be an alpha again if he killed the Desert Wolf, not until he'd heard him howling earlier; the fact that Peter had been the one to turn him explained the familiarity of that call. The fact that Peter had tacitly accepted Scott as his alpha explained Scott's renewed vigor at its sound. He had accepted Peter as pack, and it made their connection stronger.

Scott only wished the same strength could be given to Stiles; perhaps, in a different way, it could.

Peter returned to human form, giving Scott a curt glance before barging through the swinging door into the exam area.

Lydia slumped into the chair next to Scott, her eyes still a little vacant for his liking. But then she let out a relieved sigh, and his chest expanded with renewed hope.

"How'd you know it was him?" Scott asked her.

She blinked, a bit of her usual spark returning. "I saw his eyes," Lydia replied.

"Kira, give me your hand," Malia demanded, breaking Scott's thought process.

Before she could comply or ask why she wanted it, Malia sat and put her hand on Kira's arm. Tendrils of black snaked just beneath the flesh of her hand, running up her wrist and disappearing under the sleeve of her shirt.

Scott watched Kira relax in her chair, the bag of ice pulled away as she dropped her hand to her lap.

"What are you doing?" Kira asked. "Not that I'm complaining."

"I just saw Peter Hale naked," Malia replied through gritted teeth. "Your pain is the closest thing to brain bleach."

Kira shut her eyes and smiled.

\----------

Deaton glanced up when Peter entered, unhooking an empty blood bag from the stand by the exam table.

"Peter, you have impeccable timing," he said. "That was my last unit."

Peter stepped forward, brandishing his arm so Melissa could start taking his blood. "I got here as fast as I could." Despite the face mask Melissa wore, he could still see her frown because it reached her eyes.

"I don't know if two units will be enough," she said.

"Then take all of it if you have to!" Peter shouted. "Just make sure he lives."

Melissa nodded calmly. She was still frowning.

\----------

As soon as Chris pulled up outside the clinic, Allison and Isaac took off to get an update. Chris followed them partway and paused, holding the front door open. He'd caught sight of Derek's vehicle, parked a few feet ahead. Someone sat in the driver's seat, legs dangling outside the open door, slumped over as if they'd attempted getting out and stopped.

"Dad?" Allison stood in the doorway, waiting.

"Go on," he told them. "I'll be a minute."

"Okay." Allison hesitated, but she gave her father a brief smile and went inside.

He let the door close behind them and walked over to the SUV.

"Hello?" In the light, Chris made out who he was talking to.

Braeden's eyes opened slightly. "Hey."

Chris' gaze drifted up and down, assessing the situation: Braeden clutching her side, her arm tight around her waist. Her breathing was labored and a faint sheen of sweat glistened on her skin.

"You're hurt," Chris said. "Why didn't you say something?"

She scoffed. "I'm not the one bleeding out with a kid on the way."

"I could take you to the hospital."

"I'll be fine," Braeden insisted, but even as she tried moving, she winced and pressed harder against her wound.

Chris frowned, stepping closer. "Someone needs to see to that."

"I can patch myself up. I just need a little rest."

It was possible she could, but the pain might also be making her delirious. Without a good look at her injury, Chris couldn't be sure.

She was being stubborn, and he didn't like it. She reminded him of Victoria in that regard, who'd been the non-negotiable type since before they were married, right up to her death. Braeden lacked a certain austerity that had made Victoria terrifying to strangers - and even those familiar to her, if Chris was being honest - but she was by no means compromising. In fact, from the moment they'd met, as everyone gathered around the Stilinski house, he found himself drawn to her for the single-minded passion she exhibited for her mission.

And now she was out here, injured and alone, the reward for her steadfast resolve.

"I'll be right back," he said. "Don't move."

Braeden rolled her eyes up to meet his. "And where am I gonna go?"

"Just... I'll be right back."

Chris returned to his car, opening the hatch and pulling out his fully stocked first aid kit. He brought it over and set it on the ground, lifting the lid. Opening the top compartments outward, he revealed a larger one underneath.

Braeden's eyes widened at the goods inside. "Jesus."

Chris slid his hands into a clean pair of gloves. "I like to be prepared."

"You're one of those types with a bunker full of canned goods, aren't you?"

"I'm a hunter."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Chris smiled. "I don't have a bomb shelter, if that's what you're asking."

"Uh huh."

Chris helped Braeden sit up enough so he could take a look at the gash on her side, hidden underneath her jacket.

"This is gonna need stitches," Chris announced. "Planning on doing that yourself?"

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"How bout you let me?"

Braeden said nothing, just shifted to allow Chris to get her jacket off. He moved her hand and lifted her shirt away from the bloody mess, then set to cleaning her wound. As he worked on stitching it closed, they were both quiet. Then he poured a generous amount of hydrogen peroxide over the fresh stitches, causing Braeden to inhale sharply and shrink away.

"Sorry."

"It's all right," Braeden said.

Chris covered the area with fresh gauze and began taping it down. "Have you considered what you'll do next?"

"Not sure yet. Spent so much of my life chasing this asshole... I never gave a thought to what I'd do when I didn't have to chase him anymore."

"From what I've seen," Chris continued, stripping off the soiled gloves, "you'd make an excellent hunter."

Braeden gave a shrug with her right shoulder, a careful movement to avoid tearing the stitches. "I suppose."

Chris shut his first aid kit, his movements slow and careful, drawing out the motions so he'd have something to do with his hands. "I could teach you some things."

"It'd be something to do," she agreed. She didn't notice his hesitance.

"Why don't you come by my place in the morning and I'll show you my library?" Chris shuddered at his choice of words. It sounded like a bad pick-up line.

"Or I could come over tonight, crash on your couch. Get an early start."

"The couch isn't very comfortable."

"I've slept on worse."

"I'd prefer you sleep on better." Chris smiled. "Especially in your current condition. I couldn't live with myself if I made an injured guest stay on the couch."

"Fine. You can have the couch."

Chris only had a moment to register disappointment, and then Braeden tugged on the front of his shirt, pulling him close to her for a kiss.

\----------

Leia was making the rounds, going from Scott's arms to Allison's, then Lydia's and Isaac's turns came, and finally Malia. Kira cooed over her a little, but nearly freaked out when Scott offered to let Kira hold her.

She'd grown fussier the more she was handed off, and by the time Malia got to her, she was full-on crying.

"I can take her back," Scott offered, motioning for her.

"I've got her," Malia said.

"She's crying."

"It's a sound you need to get used to," Melissa said, coming out of the exam area. "And twice over."

"Mom!" Scott pushed himself to his feet, wobbly but stronger, not needing help this time. "How are they?"

"Stiles is still out," she replied. "Luke's stable, but we need to get him to a real hospital. I'm gonna clean up and head over to start pulling some strings."

"We'll take you," Allison offered.

"Thank you." Melissa accepted the hug her son pulled her into, holding him a moment. "They're gonna be fine, honey."

"Can I see them?"

"Deaton's still in there. Derek, too. You should sit with them."

Scott nodded, looking to Leia, who was still bawling.

"I've got her," Malia insisted. "I'll bring her in when she stops crying."

With a nod, Scott headed into the exam area, Lydia following behind him.

Then Isaac and Allison left with Melissa, and it was just Malia and Kira with the baby.

"Would you ever want one of these things?" Malia asked, rocking Leia to try to calm her.

"I have no idea." Kira's face fell. "I can barely handle the fox; I doubt I could handle a kid."

Leia's volume seemed to increase with Kira's words. Malia shushed her, but it did no good. "What is it?" she asked the infant. "You think you have problems? Trying finding out that your mom is actually your dad. And that your mom-dad killed your dad-dad to keep him from killing your other dad. My point is, buck up." Leia cried even harder. "Seriously," Malia pleaded. "Stop crying."

"I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure antagonizing the baby isn't going to help."

Malia flashed her eyes at Kira, a snarl escaping her throat.

The crying softened, then ceased entirely, and Malia perked up, catching Leia looking up at her with a curious expression. "There," she said with an air of triumph. "Was that so hard?"

"Maybe she recognizes family when she sees it," Kira said. "Come on."

Malia snuggled Leia closer and let Kira lead the way to the rest of her family.

\----------

Peter didn't even remember passing out. The last thing he remembered, Deaton was cutting into Stiles with a scalpel, opening him to pull Luke out. Luke's heartbeat was dangerously low. Peter wondered if that had affected him as much as the blood loss. He wasn't sure how this etheric cord was supposed to work.

He looked down at himself to see someone had outfitted him with a set of Deaton's scrubs. There was an IV in his arm, a unit of blood going into his vein. Whose it was, he didn't know.

Getting his bearings, he saw that he was in an office, laying on a couch with his feet slung over the arm. Just as he was about to attempt standing, Deaton walked through the propped-open door and smiled at him.

Peter frowned. "Stiles?"

"He's fine. Stable. Still out from the sedative and anesthetic, but he'll recover."

"And the twins?" Even as he asked it, he tested their connection, reaching out to find that Leia was strong, and Luke still fighting.

"One healthy baby girl. And the boy is in an incubator."

"How bad?"

"Melissa's arranging for his transport to the NICU at Beacon Hills. Time will tell, but... I think he'll pull through. He's got a lot of fight in him."

"If he's a Hale, he'd better."

Deaton nodded.

"So whose blood is this?"

"Mine," Deaton replied. "And Derek's. Sheriff Stilinski gave a unit as well."

"None of them have my blood type."

"I took a chance that your werewolf biology would accommodate that." Deaton grinned. "It appears it did."

"I see you waste no opportunity to gamble with my life," Peter said, but his voice lacked the usual note of exasperation.

"'Make sure he lives', you said."

Peter remembered the words leaving his mouth, but thought it might have been a dream. He thought, for a brief waking moment, that it had all been a dream. He tried to piece together what was real and what had been an etheric-cord-induced hallucination.

Deaton's voice broke through his concentration before he could take a good stab at it.

"And speaking of Sheriff Stilinski," Deaton continued, "he wanted to talk to you when you woke."

"That doesn't sound good," Peter mumbled, but he was already out of Deaton's earshot as the vet headed back to the main exam area.

A moment later, Sheriff Stilinski entered, taking slow, awkward steps into the office. He stopped beside the couch, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Peter said, giving the man a slight glare.

"You keep saving my son's life," the Sheriff said, looking down at Peter. "Three times now."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Does this mean we're besties?"

Stilinski chortled and shook his head. "No, I still hate you."

"Good. It's become the one thing in this life I can count on."

John huffed a breath, glaring at the werewolf. "What it means is... I can be civil."

"For your son's sake?"

"And for my own sanity," John said. "Bottom line: I don't trust you, but I trust my son. And he, for some reason I can't fathom... he trusts you. If I lose my son because I pressure him to stay away from you... well, I don't think I could handle that."

"Yes, I've seen your liquor cabinet," Peter said.

Sheriff Stilinski put out his hand, offering it to Peter. When Peter accepted it, wariness filled the man's eyes. They shook, and the Sheriff's expression softened.

"I'll be good to him," Peter said, letting go of John's hand. "But that's not a promise for _you_."

"Well, I guess that's the best I can hope for." With a curt nod, John left the room, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts.

\----------

Pain. Pain and discomfort were all he knew. A growing sensation that he wasn't whole anymore. That something had happened to him, had torn into him. Taken something.

He vaguely acknowledged a receding sense of tranquility.

Someone held his hand. Fingers slotted between his own.

Then the pain faded. Slow at first. Steadily leaving his body like a tide leaving shore.

His eyelids were sieves to the light. Voices echoed in his ears, words bouncing without context. _Pack. Family. Alpha. Home._

He tried opening his eyes, but he was sinking under water, he was drowning, he couldn't _breathe_. Someone called to him but he didn't even know his name.

Another hand, clutching his other. A palm to his cheek.

_Stiles._

He opened his eyes. He wasn't alone.

Shapes accompanied him, dancing in front of the light. Shadows calling his name.

"Stiles?"

His throat felt raw as a mumbled mass of noises trickled out. He couldn't control it.

Then, a different voice. The other shadow.

"Stiles, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand."

That was something he could do. And he did. Fiercely.

"Hey," the voice replied.

Stiles opened his eyes wider, squinting under the harsh fluorescents of the animal clinic. He first saw Scott come into focus, noticed it was Scott's hand on his cheek. Derek stood immediately to his left, hand firmly clutching his, veins no doubt blackened with Stiles' pain.

A rush of panic came over him as recent events flooded to the forefront of his mind.

"Where?"

"You're okay," Derek said. "You're safe."

Stiles' focus sharpened and he saw Derek's shape become more defined, enough that Stiles could see clearly he was holding something in his other arm.

A tiny wayward hand poked out of the bundled blanket.

"Is that...?"

"Your daughter?" Derek said, smiling gently. "Yep."

"Ours," Stiles said. "She's ours."

"Luke is..." Scott started to explain. "I mean, if we're still calling them Luke and Leia?"

"Works for me," Stiles replied, the words slurring together.

"Luke's being transported to the hospital," Scott said. "It was a little too early for him to be born."

"But he's going to be fine," Derek insisted. "Melissa will make sure he receives the best care."

"I wanna see him." Stiles tried sitting up.

"Don't--!" Derek said.

Pain shot through his abdomen; Scott shoved him back down as Derek reeled back, breaking their connection so that more pain ripped through Stiles' body. He grimaced as it lit every nerve on fire. Scott took up Derek's slack, siphoning enough of it for Stiles to relax.

"You'll tear your stitches," Scott told him, panting as he caught his breath. "You'll need take it easy for a few days."

"I have to wait that long to see Luke?"

"I'm sorry, Stiles." Scott bit his lip, adjusting to the pain. "But one of us will be with him all the time. He won't be alone. Okay? I promise."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry."

Scott smiled. "Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you're awake. And safe." He lifted Stiles' hand and brushed a kiss across his knuckles.

Derek returned to his side, keeping both hands on Leia. "I'm hereby forbidding werewolf pain management when holding an infant."

Stiles tilted his head. "Good call."

"Deaton should be back in a minute," Scott said.

"With the ability to administer morphine or something, I hope."

Scott chuckled. "Yeah, that would be nice."

"And Peter?"

Derek nodded towards the office. "Peter is--"

"Peter is right here."

Scott turned as Peter appeared in the office doorway. There were gauze pads taped to the inside of both his arms and an IV port on the back of his hand, which he unceremoniously yanked out and tossed into a nearby receptacle. Then he plucked off the gauze. His skin held no trace of a mark under any of them.

"And I'm glad to see you're awake finally." Peter approached, standing at the foot of the table.

"Should you be on your feet?" Derek asked.

"I'm fine," Peter replied. "I have Alpha healing now, remember?"

"Alpha healing?"

Peter flashed red eyes at Stiles in response.

"You killed him?"

"I did."

Stiles sighed, relief washing over him anew. "Good."

And everything _was_ good, at least for the moment. Stiles was glad to know everyone had survived the Desert Wolf, that they were all safe once more, that Scott, Derek, and Peter were all there with him, their presence an assurance that he might soon be whole again.

All that remained was to watch over Luke, and hope he would survive, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next weekend I'll be finishing this story up with a final chapter and an epilogue. The wild ride is almost over! \o/


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some loose ends tied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue forthcoming. Should be soon, but I won't make promises this time. :P

It was three days before Stiles could go to see Luke.

The day he first went to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Beacon Hills Memorial, Stiles left Leia with his dad. Leia was easy to handle, happy in anyone's arms so long as they were happy to hold her. The first time Stiles saw Scott with her, his breath caught in his throat. It wasn't hard to see the resemblance at all. It shouldn't have felt as hard to leave her as it did, considering how much Stiles trusted his father, but leaving her behind was as hard as being away from Luke those first three days of his life.

Melissa followed Stiles towards the tiny incubator, a hand around his shoulder as they approached.

Although walking was still uncomfortable for him, he needed to do it; too much time had already passed, and Deaton painted a pretty grim picture of what could happen if he was too sedentary. He started to wonder how long it would take for his body to feel normal again.

There were two openings on one side of the incubator, the edges attached to gloves which Stiles would have to use to handle his son. More barriers to separate them. It was better than not seeing him at all, and it was necessary for Luke's well-being at this point; he was still developing, after all. But it was all the more reminder that Luke was still fighting, and that Stiles could do nothing to help him.

Before they were even born, the twins had been in danger. As hard as it was to protect them before, to Stiles it felt a million times worse with them separated, with them both out here in the real world. At home there was Leia; at the hospital, Luke. In this way, being pregnant had been easier. No matter where Stiles went, they'd been with him, both of them, always. He could protect them more easily, in his own way if not in a werewolf way.

\----------

Stiles wasn't included in the rotation to sit with Luke; he was included in the rotation of People To Be Watched Closely, as he thought of it. Seemed like he was never alone - he wasn't exactly complaining, at least not until someone made him go home. Luke was never alone either, but it hurt to leave his side.

Early on, he'd wondered if some supernatural element of his pregnancy had made him decide to continue on with it, but if such an element existed, it never faded even after their birth. Stiles fell harder for the twins every day, and remained grateful for his decision to keep them.

Over the next few weeks, the etheric cord between the twins and Peter proved vital to Luke's survival. Once, when Peter's turn to sit with him was hours away, Peter woke in a cold sweat and told Stiles something was wrong with Luke: for some reason, he couldn't breathe. They called Melissa at the hospital and told her there was a problem.

It was then Stiles suspected the etheric cord included him, too. Before Peter woke him that night, he'd been dreaming that he couldn't breathe, that he had a hole in his chest growing and pulling air into his body, collapsing his lung.

When Melissa called them with good news, she said Luke's lung had collapsed, but it was caught in time to save his life.

\----------

When Scott and Stiles graduated high school, Stiles opted out of walking across the stage. Instead he sat in the audience with Derek, Melissa and his dad and applauded along with them when Scott received his diploma. Leia was home with Peter, who hated crowds and would go nowhere near the ceremony.

They planned to make a final move, with all six of them, into the San Fran house in July as soon as Luke was released, although Peter spent more time there, alone, than in Beacon Hills. Stiles suspected Peter still felt odd among the rest of the pack, now that all the excitement around the Desert Wolf was finished.

Stiles made it back to the trans parenting group in June and gave everyone an update. He was happy to see that Ted was far enough along that he looked near ready to pop, and he expressed his excitement at learning that Robert and Carol were expecting their first child. Also since the last meeting, Joe had given birth to a healthy boy, for which Ellie couldn't be happier.

It still kind of bothered him that they didn't know he wasn't a trans guy; he hated lying to them. Maybe one day he could tell them the truth about how he'd conceived the twins, but he doubted it would be soon, if ever.

He did have the opportunity to come out as poly though. It hadn't caused any confusion, just a lot of being told how lucky he was to have two extra pairs of hands to help raise the twins. Which, he hadn't needed to be told that. He felt incredibly fortunate for Scott, Derek, and Peter on a daily basis.

\----------

Stiles was sandwiched between Scott and Derek in his bed when the phone rang one late night in July. He picked it up, heard Melissa's voice loud and clear through the line, and his breath caught in his throat as he waited to hear the reason for her call. He knew all the hospital numbers by heart at that point, so he was already on edge, worried about the kind of news that couldn't wait until morning.

Derek and Scott were wide awake beside him, no doubt listening in.

"I'm sorry to bother you, sweetie, and it's nothing bad," Melissa told him, hurrying the last few words. "I have access to the records department tonight. I need a name for Luke's birth certificate."

"A name?" Stiles asked, his relief giving way to confusion. "Besides Luke?"

"A last name," Melissa replied, her voice losing its steadiness. "A family name? I wasn't sure... I would assume Stilinski, but I wanted to double check."

He looked to Derek first, whose worry-filled eyes eased now that he knew there was no bad news.

But then Stiles turned to Scott, and saw in his face a flash of sadness.

"Do I have to pick it now?" Stiles asked Melissa. "I mean, if I do, then..."

"You have time," Melissa assured him. "I hope I didn't wake everyone?"

"Actually, you did," Stiles huffed, smiling a little. "But it's fine. Thanks for calling. And Luke's fine, right? Nothing new to report?"

"I think he's getting stronger," she told him. "Shouldn't be too much longer before he can leave this place."

"I'll be glad when he does."

Melissa wished them all a good night and Stiles hung up his phone, catching Scott's eyes again.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Scott shrugged. "I guess I got my hopes up that Luke was coming home."

"Yeah, me, too," Stiles said. Then he grinned, and said to Derek, "Scott sandwich?"

Derek smiled. "Definitely." He leaped over the pair of them to Scott's other side and together, he and Stiles crowded around Scott until nothing could come between them.


	43. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A homecoming, and plans for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big and hearty THANK YOU!!!! to everyone who read this long and winding story. You are all the BEST! Thank you for sticking it out (a _year_ , oh my god how did this take me a _year_ ) and thank you for your kind and wonderful comments! I tried to respond to as many as I could, but I apologize for not being able to get to everyone. However, I WILL respond to ALL comments left on the epilogue, no matter how short, long, squeeful, or whatever. If you'd prefer to send me a private message on [my tumblr](http://migratoryslashfan.tumlbr.com/ask), feel free! <3
> 
> And now, it's off to write some one-shots before I plan my next WIP. :D

Derek groaned when he caught sight of Peter on the couch. "They'll be here soon, Peter," he said. "Don't we have enough wolves by now?"

Peter peered up at his nephew on the stepladder, where he stood to hang the "Welcome Home" banner, and turned his mouth up in a half-smile. He continued tugging at the Chewbacca costume he was trying to pull over a stuffed wolf toy's head.

"You can never have too many wolves, Derek."

"Derek!" Scott shouted down the stairs. "Where'd you put that thing?"

"What thing?"

"That baby thing we just bought?"

"You mean the portable rocker?"

"That's the one."

"It's already down here with Leia's."

Peter paused in his work, staring down at the ridiculous wolf finally in its costume. Stiles had told them not to buy things for Luke until he was home; he never said why, but Peter could guess: he didn't want the reminder of a life lost staring him in the face all the time if Luke didn't survive.

What the others didn't know was that Peter had purchased the small green baby rocker for Luke the same day he'd purchased the yellow one for Leia. He'd just kept it hidden until he had the go-ahead from Stiles to get one.

Peter had been invested in the twins' survival even before the etheric cord happened upon him, but after it, he felt all too keenly when Luke had nearly slipped away from them; he never wanted to feel that again, not just for Luke's sake, but for Peter's own sanity.

"I still can't believe I live here," Scott said, descending the stairs. He headed straight for the green rocker and hoisted it off the coffee table with one hand. "I just wish it didn't mean leaving my mom alone."

"She isn't alone," Peter said idly.

Derek glared angrily at him.

"What are you talking about?" Scott asked.

Peter met his nephew's steely gaze and shrugged. "She started a knitting group with Braeden and Allison. Or so I've heard."

Derek's anger defused and his shoulders relaxed, his attention returning to Scott. To his credit, Scott narrowed his eyes suspiciously at them both, but said nothing more.

"They'll be here soon, Scott," Peter said. "Better put some pants on."

Scott looked down to see he was still in his boxers. He mumbled something and dashed back upstairs, leaving the rocker on the coffee table.

\----------

Stiles knew they were planning a party. He knew it'd been Derek's idea to start, and that Scott had been overly enthusiastic while Peter quietly planned some of the decor. He knew all this because Peter had told him. He argued it wasn't good to have too many surprises for the time being, and Stiles couldn't fault him for it. Anything Stiles felt, Luke and Leia felt, and Peter in turn. It was a giant ripple effect that they hadn't learned to control yet.

The car came to a stop in front of the house, and Stiles got his first good chance to see it in proper sunlight. He hadn't left Beacon Hills since the first time he went to San Francisco with Peter.

The house was huge in comparison to the one in Beacon Hills, though it was by no means a mansion. His dad let out an aggrieved sigh from the driver's seat and turned to his son.

"It's a lot of house, Stiles," he said.

"It's big enough," Stiles replied.

"I know that. I'm not saying it isn't. I'm saying it's.... well, it's a lot of house to accept from one guy."

"You mean from Peter."

"I'm transparent, I know. But I worry about you living in a house with three werewolves." He quickly continued before Stiles could interrupt him. " _Even though_ one of those werewolves is your best friend."

"Come on, Dad. We've had this conversation before. They'd do anything to keep me safe," Stiles reminded him. "All of them. Even Peter."

John turned around to look at Stiles, who kept his eyes on Luke; his whole hand covered most of Luke's body. It was unreal.

"Stiles, before we go in there, I need to tell you something," John said. "I'm not supposed to say anything but I don't want--"

"I know what you're gonna say, Dad."

"You don't know."

"I do know."

"Okay, what then?"

"Surprise party," Stiles replied, smiling at his dad's blank expression.

"Okay, then." John got out of the car and pulled open the back door. He watched Stiles unbuckle Luke's car seat and gently ease Luke free of the restraint.

Stiles carefully placed the baby in his dad's waiting arms, then got out himself. "Peter told me." He gestured to the stairs.

"Of course he did." John sighed. "Hold on. There's one more thing."

Stiles paused. "What is it?"

John held Luke in one arm, wrapped his big hand around the back of Stiles' neck. "No matter what happens, you always have a home with me."

"I know that, Dad." Stiles took him into a half-hug, careful not to disrupt Luke's sleepy state.

"Come on," John said, giving Stiles a gentle push toward the house. "Let's get to it."

"Don't worry. I'll still pretend to be surprised."

"Good. That's all I ask." John smiled then, looking down at his grandson, and followed Stiles up the stairs to the front door.

\----------

Scott was in the kitchen, warming up a bottle for Leia, when he heard Sheriff Stilinski's car pull up outside.

"They're here!" Derek called out, enough for him to hear.

He heard his mother chide him in a whisper and smiled.

"He's not a werewolf," Derek reminded her. "He can't hear me from out there."

"Whatever," Melissa said, a laugh in her voice. "Just shush."

Scott came out with the bottle and handed it to Derek, who kissed him on the cheek in return.

Melissa smiled at them from beside Chris and Braeden. The whole pack was there, in fact; Malia and Kira were whispering to each other by the snack table, while Lydia, Allison, and Isaac were off somewhere exploring the house. Peter had objected to that last point, but relented when Scott gave him puppy-dog eyes - a fact he would take to his grave.

Deaton was double-checking the baby-proofing with Mr. Tate, whom Malia insisted be invited. Mr. Tate was now mostly aware of what his daughter was, and he and Peter had developed a tacit acquaintanceship, but he had no idea about all that had occurred with the Desert Wolf, nor that Peter had been the one to give birth to Malia.

Footsteps on the front porch alerted them to the incomers, and Derek, Scott, and Peter gave each other harried glances.

"Time to hide." Derek headed for the dining room with Leia so they were out of view of the front door. It was just in time, too, as the door opened and Stiles walked in with his dad and Luke. Luke's scent wasn't as strong in Derek's nose as he'd like, but he could still tell him from Stiles and the Sheriff, and that was enough.

Derek heard the calmed shout of "Surprise!" and Stiles laughed awkwardly. "Heyyyy, whaddayaknow? A surprise party!"

"I told you he knew about it," Lydia said from the stairs. "Peter probably told him."

"I didn't want to upset Luke or Leia," Peter said, in an off-hand manner that Derek now realized was his defensive voice.

"It's fine," Melissa said. "We're just glad you're here. Both of you." She started cooing, Derek guessed because of Luke.

"Where's Derek?"

At that, Derek headed for the living room, still feeding Leia. The noise had calmed enough that he didn't think she'd fret too much over it.

"Hey!" Stiles came right up to them and put a hand on Leia's forehead, then leaned in for a kiss from Derek.

"You're so disgusting," Isaac mumbled.

"Jealous?" Stiles teased.

"I wanna hold someone!" Malia declared. "By which I mean Leia."

"When she's done feeding," Derek said. "She'll make the rounds."

"Why don't you wanna hold Luke?" Stiles asked.

"He's too small," Malia said, wrinkling her nose. "When he gets bigger, I'll hold him, too."

Derek rolled his eyes. "You won't break him."

"But--"

Melissa was already heading her way, placing Luke into Malia's arms.

"Oh, my god," she whispered, eyes wide with fear. "Too small."

"He's fine," Melissa insisted. She stayed with them all the same, giving her a minute before taking Luke back when Malia asked - or rather, begged.

"I still can't believe they came out of you," Malia said to Stiles.

"Sometimes the whole thing feels like a dream," Stiles admitted. "Like maybe I got caught in the snare myself, and this is all my imagination."

"You're not a werewolf," Malia reminded him. "You couldn't have been caught in it."

"I know," Stiles said, and then he shrugged. "Just afraid it isn't real sometimes."

"It's real," Derek said, passing Leia finally to Malia, who beamed as she held the infant close. He pulled Stiles close to him and whispered, "And if it isn't, let's never wake up." He took Stiles into another kiss and smiled at him.

\----------

Stiles got Scott alone long enough to drag him upstairs. They made out like teenagers for a handful of minutes before Stiles put a stop to it, reluctantly.

"As fun as this is, it's not why I pulled you away," Stiles said between panted breaths.

"Okay," Scott replied with a grin. He ran a hand through Stiles' hair and held his gaze. "Why then?"

Stiles groaned. "I can't have a serious conversation when you're looking at me like that."

Scott laughed, putting a little distance between them on the gargantuan bed. They barely took up a third of it. "Serious time," he said. "What is it you want to say?"

"I've been thinking about something, and--feel free to shoot this down--but I have to ask," Stiles said. "I've gotta ask Derek, too."

"It's about Peter?"

"Yeah, sort of," Stiles said. "And something else."

Scott shrugged. "It can't be that bad."

"It's... uh, well, not bad. It's something I want, that I didn't want before. Not now, but in the future. When I'm ready for it."

"Stiles..."

"I want the bite," Stiles said. "I've been giving it a lot of thought. I need to be able to protect Luke and Leia, the way you and Derek and Peter can."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, very. And like I said, not now. When I'm ready. But it's the right call."

"It could kill you," Scott said softly. "That's not the right call."

"We can make sure it is," Stiles said. "I've been talking to Deaton. He knows a way to figure out if it'll take."

"He does?"

"It involves blood, and the Nemeton, so it's not exactly gonna be pleasant, but it won't kill me to try."

"When are you gonna know?"

Stiles shook his head. "Deaton has to get the ingredients together and we have to wait for a specific full moon. But I don't know that I'd want it that soon anyway. Maybe when the twins are a little older and getting into shit they're not supposed to?"

Scott chuckled softly. "So what does this have to do with Peter?" He'd barely asked when his face fell. "You want him to give you the bite."

Stiles drew Scott into another kiss, then foreheads touching, he said, "No, actually, I want you to."

"You do?"

"Of course, I do. Romantic-sexual relationship or not, you're still my best friend," Stiles replied. "You're still my brother."

"Then I'll do it," Scott said. "When you're ready. As long as we can make sure you'll be safe."

"Awesome," Stiles beamed.

"But you said it's sort of about Peter," Scott said. "What did you mean by that?"

"Well, there's something else I want to ask," Stiles said. "It's for after I've had the bite."

"Okay, what is it?"

Stiles swallowed hard, and then he asked him.

\----------

Scott and Stiles returned to the party to find it dying down. Leia was getting restless from being passed around so much, and Luke had barely woken up the whole time. They decided to call it a night.

Chris and Braeden left first, followed by Allison and Isaac. Lydia took Malia and Kira home after that. It was down to the residents of the house and Melissa and John.

"I guess we should get out of your hair," the Sheriff said, but not till after the sun went down. Scott could tell neither of them wanted to leave, and he would offer them the guest suite, but he'd promised Derek and Peter that their first night altogether in the house would just be the six of them: Derek, Scott, Stiles, Peter and the twins. They needed to figure some things out among them without any interference or distraction.

"Have a safe trip," Stiles told him, giving him a great big hug.

"It's only an hour," John insisted. "If that."

"You're a sheriff, Dad. Try to keep it below the speed limit."

John laughed.

Beside him, Melissa beamed as she pulled Scott into her arms. "Call me if you need anything."

"Mom, we'll be fine," Scott said. "But thank you."

"Yes, don't forget I practically raised this one here," Peter said with a gesture towards Derek. "Everyone's in capable hands."

"If only my nerves would get the message," Melissa said with a nervous laugh.

"Mom..."

"Okay, honey, I know." Melissa hugged him again and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "But I'm serious. Call me for any reason."

"I will, Mom."

"Even for an update."

"I _will_. I promise."

With Melissa and John out the door, Stiles watched them until they were gone, then stepped back into the house. He turned around to see Scott, Peter, and Derek behind him, Peter holding Leia and Derek holding Luke, and he smiled at his family.

"Okay," he said. He folded his arms over his chest, tension rising inside him. "How do we do this?"

"Do what?" Scott asked.

"This... us." Stiles gestured around the room. "Who's sleeping where? With whom? Where are Luke and Leia sleeping? That sort of thing?"

Scott gulped, and Derek and Peter exchanged a glance.

"It's up to you," Derek said. He nodded towards Peter. "We've got the twins, if you want to be with Scott tonight."

Stiles felt like he was being set up for failure already. How could he decide, on their first night together, who would be left out? He didn't want anyone to be left out; he wanted to be with them all for their first night in the house together.

"No," Stiles said, firmly shaking his head. "It's a poly pack pile tonight or it's nothing."

At the word "no", Scott looked disappointed, but then he smiled at Stiles' reason why. "I like that idea."

Derek nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Peter sighed. "As long as I'm not in the middle."

"You can have the outside," Stiles assured him. He marched over and gave him a kiss, the first one, he realized, that day. Peter must've been waiting awhile because he locked their lips and held Stiles in place for a few seconds before letting him go. "Yeah. Pack pile it is."

There were still things to work out, Stiles knew, still things to discuss about how everything would go between them. But as Stiles settled in between Peter and Scott, and Derek finished tucking Luke into his nearby bassinet, Stiles couldn't help but feel that his strange family was already a success.

\----------

"I'm thinking a three name hyphenate," Stiles announced. "Hale-McCall-Stilinski."

Derek laughed. "That's a terrible idea."

"Dude, think of all the forms we'd have to put that on," Scott added.

Stiles looked to Peter, laid out on a blanket on the grass, clutching Leia against his chest. Luke never seemed to settle in anyone's arms but Stiles' these days.

"Peter? You ever gonna weigh in on this?"

"What about a combination of the three?" Peter asked. His eyes remained closed, and he gave off an air of boredom. "McHaleinski, perhaps?"

"That is the worst idea I've ever heard," Derek snorted.

"I don't know," Scott said with a shrug. "I kinda like it."

"Oh, careful now," Stiles said. "The two of you agreeing on something is a sure sign of the apocalypse."

"Stiles..."

"Like, the sun is gonna be blotted from the sky any minute now. Zombies will amble over to munch on our brains."

"I think werewolves can outrun zombies," Peter replied. "We'll survive."

"Hello, three humans here," Stiles noted.

"Dude. Three werewolves," Scott said. "You know we'd carry you."

"All right, enough discussion," Derek said, standing and walking over to Stiles. "My turn." He held his arms out, motioning to Luke.

"He just went to sleep," Stiles whined. At Derek's insistent beckoning, Stiles sighed and gently eased the baby into the cradle of his arms. "You're gonna be the one to deal with the fallout."

"Yes, dear." Derek's eyes were on Luke when he said it, rapt with awe. "Scott?"

"Oh, right," he answered, standing. "My cue."

Derek nudged Peter's boot with the toe of his shoe.

Peter opened his eyes finally, just as Scott knelt down to lift Leia from his chest. Behind him, Stiles stood, reaching out to him.

"I'm sensing a conspiracy," Peter said, taking Stiles' hand and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

"Yeah, but it's the good kind," Stiles replied, pecking the corner of his mouth with a quick kiss. He waved to the others and said, "We'll be back."

\----------

"All right, let me see 'em," Stiles said.

"See what?"

"Your eyes."

Peter rolled his eyes, but they went red as he did. "I don't understand your fascination with this."

"Pleeeease?" Stiles begged.

"Fine." Peter dropped his fangs and took Stiles hand, turning his arm so his wrist faced up. "Do you want the bite?" he asked slowly.

Stiles watched as Peter drew his wrist slowly towards his fangs, right up until his skin touched their tips. He didn't pull back this time. Instead, Peter stopped, staring at him.

"Do you?" he asked, his voice sincere, certain that Stiles couldn't possibly have changed his mind about this.

"Yes," Stiles said. "But from Scott. From you, I want something else. A different kind of gift."

Peter's fangs retracted and his eyes went back to their normal human blue. "What are you talking about?"

Stiles held his gaze, biting his lip until he thought he might taste iron. Then he bit the bullet and said, "Your knot."

Peter's grip tightened around Stiles' hand. "Are you serious?"

"Maybe not in the immediate future," Stiles said. "When Luke and Leia are a little older. But yeah. I'm serious."

"Why?"

"Why? What do you mean why? Why not?" Stiles couldn't help a small smile at the pun. "Why knot?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "In case you don't recall, your last foray into knotting and supernatural pregnancy wasn't exactly a walk in the proverbial park."

"No, but I don't have a psycho werecoyote trying to kill my boyfriends and steal our children," Stiles said. "Besides, Deaton said it's unlikely I'd have had twins with just one of you."

"You make fair points."

"So? Is that a yes?"

"You really want to go through that again?"

"It's not like I got to enjoy it much the first time around."

"Mm, yes, the morning sickness and the aches and pains... what a pleasant experience."

Stiles grinned. "Exactly."

"You're insane."

"And yet you still love me."

"Your body wasn't made for it, Stiles," Peter said.

"You are hellbent on changing my mind about this, aren't you?"

"It's a big choice. That's all. I want to make sure you're sure."

"I'm very sure," Stiles said. "That's why I want the bite. It's why I brought it up. In fact, I am so sure, that I would bend over right here in the park if it meant--"

"Okay, thank you," Peter said, clamping a hand over Stiles' overactive mouth. "You're going to scare the other humans."

Stiles slid Peter's hand away from his mouth, then leaned in and kissed him.

"So? Is that a yes?"

Peter gave him a leering appraisal, eyes casting over Stiles' body. "Yes." He kissed him again, deeper than before. Stiles rocking back a little when they parted again. Then he brought the boy's ear close for a whispered, "I'm gonna breed the fuck out of you."

"Goddamn it, Peter," Stiles moaned. "You can't say that shit to me in public."

Peter slipped a hand between Stiles' legs and felt the hard bulge in his pants. "You're right, I can't," he said. "Unless of course I _want_ you to walk back through the park with a raging hard-on."

"You're such a dick."

"Better yet, a big stain on the front of your pants." Peter stroked him through the fabric until Stiles pushed his hand away. "Very well. Erection it is."

"It'll go down in a minute."

"Not if I keep filling your ear with the details of our future lasciviousness."

Stiles groaned. "Can't that wait until we're at home?"

Peter relented with a laugh. "You're just so much fun to wind up. And then down again."

"So you don't mind? That I want Scott to be the one to change me?"

Peter drew in a long breath, finally shaking his head. "Part of me does, a very primitive part of me, yes. I mind. But I changed Scott, so, in a way... it'll be because of me that you're a wolf."

"That's... very mature of you," Stiles said. "Suspiciously mature?"

Peter sneered. "I am the most mature out of all of us."

"Right. Sure." Stiles took Peter's hand again and led them back towards Derek and Scott. "There is something else to discuss. The upcoming wedding?"

"That's definitely a boner killer."

"They wanna keep it simple so there won't be bridesmaids or best men or anything," Stiles continued. "It's family only, which means you have to be there."

"I know _we_ are family, but I highly doubt Scott's mother and your father share the sentiment. Especially your father."

"My dad's coming around," Stiles shrugged. "Besides, you're my plus one. Derek is Scott's. You have to come on that basis alone."

"And I suppose I'll lose two dances to Scott and Derek," Peter said.

"You could always dance with them, too."

Peter raised one eyebrow. "I may be licentious at times, but I am not _dancing_ with my _nephew_."

"What about Scott?" Stiles waggled his eyebrows.

Peter balked. "Do you want me to dance with Scott?"

"I wouldn't be jealous," Stiles pointed out.

"Touché."

"I'll dance with you," Peter said. "And Melissa, if she lets me."

"And if my dad isn't armed."

"Armed at his own wedding?" Peter replied. "Isn't that a little... less southern California, more southern Georgia?"

Stiles elbowed Peter, but he was smiling. "You're with me, I'm sure my dad won't think you're trying to steal her away. Besides, if she wants to dance with someone, I don't think he'll try telling her no."

"I've seen Melissa defend her son; she has a ferocity I can respect."

\----------

"What do you think he's gonna say?" Scott asked, catching Derek's eye.

"If I know Peter, he's going to say yes," Derek replied. "There's no way he'll say no to Stiles at this point. For anything."

"I've been thinking about something myself," Scott said.

"Don't tell me you want to try it, too," Derek said. "If Peter and Stiles have a kid, that's three already."

"You don't wanna get overwhelmed?"

"Not really."

"I think we could handle it," Scott said with a smile. "But that's not what I was thinking."

"What then?"

"The etheric cord," Scott said. "The one Peter and Stiles have with the twins. I want to try to create one. For all of us."

"That's some intense magic, Scott."

"Is that a no?"

"It's an I'll think about it," Derek said. "Stiles and Peter would have to agree to it, too."

"I think if we can all reach out to each other on the etheric cord, it'd be an important thing to have in place. Kind of like how Stiles wants the bite in order to protect the twins better."

"I know. And you're right." Derek moved closer, leaning in to kiss Scott. "And I want that connection with you... with Stiles, and the twins. But I still need to think about it."

"Because of Peter?"

"That's part of it. He's still my uncle. If we're all feeling everything together..."

"What if we created one between just us and the twins? That way, we're all only tethered through them?"

"That could work," Derek agreed. "You know we'll have to cut these cords at some point, right? When they're older, when they can take care of themselves?"

"Really?"

"It's part of growing up, cutting the cord. Although most people only say that metaphorically."

"Right."

"It's something to sleep on."

Scott nodded. He kissed Derek again, slower this time, and then they waited together for Stiles and Peter to return.

\----------

One night two months later, with Luke and Leia moved to their own nursery room, Stiles awoke to the tug of the etheric cord.

Peter stirred beside him, but Stiles sent a sense of calm through the twins to him, and he went back to sleep.

Stiles slipped out and padded down the hall, tip-toeing past Scott and Derek's room along the way.

Sometimes Stiles slept with Derek and Scott, but for the most part he stayed with Peter, always acutely aware of his absence and solitude those nights he wasn't with him.

As he entered the nursery, he saw in the dim light that someone had beat him to it. He let his eyes adjust and saw Derek, clad only in his sleep pants, reaching into Luke's crib to lift him out. Derek comforted Luke as he started to fuss.

"Hey," Stiles said quietly.

"Hi," Derek replied, bouncing a little to calm Luke down.

"Is he okay?" Even as he asked he reached along the cord, but felt no pain in the boy, just unease.

"I think it's probably gas."

Derek sat in the chair in the corner and motioned for Stiles, pulling him into his knee opposite Luke. He held Luke upright, over his shoulder, and Stiles rubbed the baby's back softly. Stiles leaned his head on Derek's other shoulder, relaxing against the arm that snaked around his waist.

"Been awhile since it was just the two of us," Derek whispered, nuzzling Stiles' head.

Stiles considered his response. He waited a few minutes until Luke let out a few burps and returned to sleep, and then he tilted Derek's chin up and kissed him, deep and slow.

Derek was right; it had been awhile. An electric jolt burned through him as they kissed, a simmering fire that threatened to consume him. He put himself together long enough to settle Luke back in his crib, then took Derek's hand and led him to one of the guest rooms.

The first thing he did was pull Derek's pants down and push him onto the bed. Derek grinned as Stiles climbed on top of him, shedding his t-shirt before he slowly jacked Derek off. Stiles pulled his own dick free of his boxers and used Derek's cum to masturbate, all while Derek watched.

"That was the definition of a quickie," Stiles said, flopping next to Derek on the bed.

"We'll go longer next time," Derek replied. He put an arm around Stiles and held him close. "Maybe have Scott join us?"

"Yeah," Stiles agreed. "And then I'll leave the two of you to continue the fun while I go to Peter."

"Something like that."

"Polyamory is a lot less sex all the time and a lot more logistics."

Derek turned to Stiles and smiled. "We'll get the hang of it."

"Scott was right," Stiles announced. "You're all gonna wear me out."

Derek laughed, deeply and loud. Then he pulled Stiles into another kiss and said, "You can count on that."


End file.
